The Walls
by Melanie Dawson
Summary: Her brother had been murdered and her sister had gone mad. Now the bastard child of the infamous Mad King must restore the Westeros Throne to its former glory. But in her struggle, will Khal Drogo prove to be an enemy or an ally? Or maybe nothing at all.
1. Prologue

**The Walls**

_By Melanie Dawson_

He stepped hard, sinking his feet in the thick frozen snow. His breath came out steaming the icy air as he moved slowly under the weight of his wet cloak. He stumbled and the bag on his shoulder turned around, sending the string holding it together deep in his flesh and he resisted the pain with a growl. One more step and his weak knees gave in; the overloaded body of Sir Jorah Mormont collapsed abruptly with a blunt sound at the foot of the old trees in the Mongorian forests. Shades of death lingered in these places and Jorah felt they were coming for him. He had set on this journey to save life, yet he might lose his before long. The sounds of these wretched lands poisoned his tired senses, filled his chest with fears of a near end and he struggled to get up. But his heart did not have the strength to bear such weight on those poor legs anymore. He had walked for too long, too far – and to what avail? His thoughts crumbled slowly swiped by the wind; frosted leaves flew down in circles, covering his cheek as he stood there, motionless, his chest naked, melting the snow underneath. He was slowly growing cold, his brain forgetful of the danger. The shades of death were approaching. A gust of wind and wet flakes of fresh snow landed gently on his wounded shoulder. They mingled with the blood and stained the purity of Mother Nature as it covered the earth around his body. Twigs breaking as if stepped on, quick and hard; branches swishing when thrown aside to make way. He forced his head around but his eyes couldn't penetrate in the distance anymore. Shadows in grey coming closer. He tried to close his eyes and not look upon his approaching death but the eye balls had frozen into a glacial look and the eyelids couldn't drop. He starred blankly with tears rolling down his temple, freezing in his silvery hair. Steps so close, ever so close and then the dark. A patch of white again and then the dark. He commanded his eyes shut and with an immense stinging pain they did.

"There are many the places where I'd follow you my friend, but the realm of shades is not one of them. Not yet anyway. That day will come for both of us and we can walk it together." Magister Illyrio sat down calmly, in his old man fashion, waiting for Jorah to make sense of his situation. His eyes rolled slowly around the room, frowning as he went over the rich decorations, past the open window and as his sight got lost in the bright sunlight, he sank deeper in the sheets, savoring this illusion of life.

"My dear Magister…" his voice sparkled with humor and for a moment a short smile sprinkled some life on that pale dead face of his. "… had I not known any better, I think you would've let the Shades take me where I belong." Illyrio remained untouched by his words but reached with his staff and poked his friend on the leg.

"Are you ready to die Jorah, you coward? Dying is easy; you've tried that so many times!" The Magister stood up, limping his way around the bed to look outside the window. "You deserve your death old man, but I would battle any Shade that dares take you no nonw, for this is not the time to go. Much is needed of you Sir Mormont."

Jorah struggled to move up on the pillows and his shoulder responded with a deaf pain down his arm and he dropped back on his back before hurting more.

"How can I do anything anymore, with what I've become?" Jorah looked at the ceiling exasperated with his condition.

"Has the son of Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night Watch succumbed to old age and ruin? I think not. The writings on the walls of destiny pulsate with life and this is no luck that you stand before me still drawing breath. Or have you forgotten what dangers linger in the heart of the Mongorian woods? None of my men could've saved you or their pitiful selves if it hadn't been for a higher power at work."

"It was the shortest way here…" Illiryo appreciated the regret in Jorah's voice and his spirit calmed. "What would you have me do?"

"There is a gathering tonight. We must decide in whose hands to place the kingdom of Aerys now that his son has failed him." The Magister sat down, drawing invisible markings on the floor. The staff screeched stumbling in the irregularities of the stone and his eyes fixed the metal edge, polished by too much use.

"He deserved his fate; he's been looking for revenge for too long, rash and impulsive. Nothing like his father! The throne of the Westeros will not be conquered so easily… he should've known that before drawing the wrath of the tribes upon him."

"Yes, but now he lies dead in the dirt and talking about him does not benefit us."

"What of his sister, Daenerys? Is it true what they say about her, that she has lost her mind to the shadows?"

Jorah made an effort to look at Illyrio still inspecting silently the staff he held so strongly in his hand.

"She is not well. The death of Viserys, the gossip and the war have torn her; have torn her to deep to mend I fear. She is a lonely woman with no interest in life or her kin."

"But has her kin taken interest in her?" Illyrio forced his weight up, taking one careful step after another as he made his way to the door.

"Daenerys is no longer our concern. She is useless to herself… and to us." Jorah skipped forward in a desperate but short lived attempt to defend the once lovely child he'd witnessed grow into a beautiful maiden years before. But the Magister's look took that chance away from him, leaving him defenseless against the decision of many.

"Someone down the road will show us the same mercy we're showing this poor girl and we're not going to like it." Illyrio stopped before stepping outside. He rested heavily against the door frame, listening to his own breathing, knowing that day would soon come when his lack of care would make him fall. He felt the choking in his chest, the lungs collapsing under the pressure of the air, his weak heart fighting to keep pumping life through his veins. Soon…

"Obey by my words Jorah and leave the girl out of this matter. She is not your mission. There is another that you will have to quest for soon enough and she is the one that must be persuaded to take back the throne of Westeros. Or it will be the end of us."

By the time the door closed behind the old noble, Jorah's thoughts burdened by memories brought his sweaty temples down on the rough sheets. The drums in his ears couldn't throttle the echo of that one name in his head. His eyes died out in a fixed regard, but behind it the white of his eyes dried with the burning pace of his thundering heart. He did not think he'd live up to the day when a new chapter in the History of the Seven Kingdoms would be written. And experience had taught him the battle for power required many players, yet it delivered few weary winners. The Game of Thrones was about to begin.


	2. Chap 1  East of the Seven Kingdoms

**East of the Seven Kingdoms**

Jorah coughed and it sounded like the chocking was coming from deep within his lungs; it took him a minute to make peace with his illness. His head pumped with a smoldering pain he couldn't control, but instinctively he pulled on the cape, wrapping it tighter around the shoulders. Sleep… What a peaceful yet distant notion that was; his tired eyes resented the lack of the nightly drug, yet his mind urged him to stay awake and ready, for times were about to change and he couldn't afford missing all the action. More coughing and the stinging in his eyes prevented him from seeing the silent nobility entering the semi-obscure room.

"I don't understand why we have to meet here, on foreign land, in the dark, like thieves." Jorah wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve and hated the rudeness of his gesture, but he was more preoccupied with the current issues than with manners.

"It is best that we discuss things of such a delicate nature – far from home. It is safer." Illyrio kept his eyes on the passive prey stepping cautiously inside the room. "Look at them, so weary, so weak. Now you understand why this must be done quickly and quietly! We cannot let the throne at the mercy of these gold diggers with nothing else on their minds but the sparkle of coins and the loins of women!" But Sir Mormont did not pay attention. His eyes wondered across the small gathering; they were all nervous, hiding small weapons under the large warm winter clothes. They didn't like it here, it wasn't home.

"Winterfell is enemy territory. The House Stark needn't know of our affairs especially in a moment like this."

"The Land of Benjen Stark is as safe as any, but more so because the House Stark would never cross the mountains and risk leaving their own home unprotected just to have a bite of our goods. They have their own battles to fight; I believe they need no more." The Magister turned towards Jorah who struggled with a new convulsion. The noble wiped his eyes off swearing at the impotency of curing faster. "Jorah, at home the walls have ears and the windows have eyes. This is why I wanted to meet here. The matters we shall speak of today, in this room, shall affect our actions out there in the world. Old enemies and new enemies will arise. Hopefully friends as well, but I wouldn't trust anyone for the time being."

"It is not the end of the world Illyrio! We've been through this before. It is never pleasant, but if wisdom prevails, then we can join hands and follow the Shades afterwards, for we have done our share on the face of this Earth." Jorah nodded gently, convinced by his own words.

"The world has changed my friend. Wisdom is a rare gift. One must not seek for the truth anymore, but for those hiding it."

"Pardon my intrusion Magister, I believe we can begin now." Illyrio's apprentice stepped aside with a bow. Jorah leaned back in his chair waiting for the nobleman to make his way to the middle of the room. His fellow citizens silenced. Many of them had already decided the fate of the throne while the rest were there to fight that decision. Fear gave absolute power to the beholder and Illyrio knew that. And none of those present feared the right things in life.

"Distinguished nobles, I am honored to be in your presence and grateful to see so many of you have come from so far to be here tonight. As you know, our country stands now alone against threats, its borders unprotected, its people in danger. And the tribes are moving closer as we speak. A decision must be made, one that will benefit the people and that will not end the reign of our royal family."

"We are familiar with your proposal Magister and I tell you now, the council will never approve it!" The voice stood out clear in the silence but Illyrio had been in this job for too long to be intimidated easily.

"My Lord Esther, I value your opinion, but you must hear me first. Yes, my proposition may come as a peril to many of you; but we must not take hasty decisions before considering the facts." He remained in the middle of the room, fixing the noble who had now challenged him. "And the facts now are that we have a dead prince and a mad princess and no rule to our lands." Illyrio hit the floor with the staff and the metal sound reverberated against the walls, making the crowd uneasy. "The tribes are gathering at our borders and there is no one to stand against them."

"Our unity will stand against them! This council is what we need. We are all seniors of the court; we've seen this country grow under the rule of one man and look where it has gotten us." The man speaking in the corner hid the incredible wealth and renowned name of his noble family under the shape of a tiny man with a long beard and sneaky black eyes. He looked more like a market villain than high ranked nobility.

"What unity Sir Lorday? Look at us today! A handful of men, with not much left to ask from their lives, fearful at every whisper and crazed by the smallest novelty – this is not unity! We are nothing but a gathering of interests and benefits. But is there among all these interests, one that truly concerns the welfare of your children and children's children? This country is crumbling from the inside, driven by ego, revenge and thirst for power. None of us here, including myself, are worthy to be placed on that throne. The line of Kings has been set in place for a good reason!"

"The line of Kings has been broken with the death of Viserys Targaryen! And even though his sister Daenerys may still be alive, she cannot take the throne with how irrational and torn she has become! The line is broken. It's time that the people chose a new King. Or, if this noble Council approves, we should name that king ourselves, as seniors of this court and by the Mighty Powers, I know there is no ill will in our intentions!" Esther almost got up his chair, demanding and explaining what most of them considered to be the right decision to vote.

"The line is not broken." His voice was but a murmur in what seemed to be a sea of rhythmic pulsations from everyone's hearts. The silence was so thick Jorah feared to move, thinking that with his body he might cut through it and make it bleed into an agonizing retaliation against his words. "The line is not broken. There is one more child that could take the throne and we must reach for her."

"Never!" Esther followed Lorday in his denial, together with other nobles who protested against the idea.

"One cannot deny her birth right!"

"She has no birth right! She is a bastard child, crumbs of a lecherous life spent outside the palace! Aerys knew it as well that's why he banished her in the first place!"

"He did not banish her, Lord Esther! It was us; _we_ exiled her without her father's knowledge!" Illyrio took a few steps closer trying to make Esther pull back, but the war axe had been thrown, there was no going back so he had to take what was coming.

"Aerys knew of her and knew she had to go!"

"Words pulled out of the mouth of a drunken man shouldn't have been considered as righteous or fare! But you wanted it that way, didn't you?" The Magister brought his staff up pointing at Esther and then slowly circling round and round, to Lorday and those sitting next to him until he reached back to the aggressive noble before him. "Didn't you? I was there Esther! Remember! I was there the night her mother was murdered, I was there when your servant left with the girl in the depth of the night – all because Aerys agreed to your mischievous plot, when he was so intoxicated he probably didn't even recognize you. She is entitled to the throne and she will be given that chance! We need her to give us that chance!"

"I shall not be at the mercy of a bastard! I shall not lay my life and my fortune to her feet!"

"Then you shall lay them before Drogo's army when he comes to take them!" Illyrio raised his voice just enough for the audience to perceive the danger in his words.

"I think we fear Drogo too much! He has no interest in plundering our lands; his kind is doing fine in the prairies. They have no business with us." Lorday waved he threat more to chase away his own fears of the prospect than to dismiss a possible reality.

"In war all parties become interested when there is something at stake!"

"We are not at war!"

"This looks to me like a war of words right now! Maybe soon one of us will draw swords and then the war will be about blood and metal!" The Magister went back to his seat, tired with anger and frustration.

"Maybe that person will be you, noble Magister."

"I'd watch my tongue Esther!" Jorah threw the cape aside; his blood was boiling, his head was hurting with the illness and with the stubbornness of this crowd. "No one here wants war. But we all know the scavengers waiting for us to rot inside our own borders so they can devour our wealth more easily. Khal Drogo may not be our enemy now, but what if he is offered a bargain? What if his own people are at risk and he must chose sides? He leads the most feared and powerful tribe of them all. We don't have the knowledge nor the understanding of his code of honor and arms to stand against him unleashed."

"And you think that woman does?" Lorday kept his position, facing Jorah as if they were about to fire arrows at each other.

"She knows a kind of life you have never encountered. She thinks like an outsider and sees advantages in things you cannot even apprehend. We need her. We should at least wait and see what she has to offer. From experience we all know what the nobility – the people, can do to a ruler if he fails them. She will fall if she doesn't do right by us and I promise you the decision shall be yours if she doesn't live up to the expectations. But we must try." Jorah stopped as if suddenly weakened by the rush of energy he got from their stunned and undecided faces. He pressed his palm against the chest, bringing his chin down. He felt dizzy and looked for support. Illyrio signaled his apprentice to help him and Jorah was thankful to lean against the young man. He kept his eyes closed until the world stopped spinning, then opened them slowly again, not letting go of the boy. "I shall go talk to her."

"We don't even know what has become of her." And Esther didn't dare say it out loud. Somehow it had haunted him throughout his entire life, knowing that he had given that child away. But it wasn't the fear of having lost her, but the fearing of her having survived, and now all of his darkest nightmares were about to come true.

"Word has it that she is in charge of a stronghold position we have close to Lake Tikaya."

"In charge? Who put her in charge?" For such a small man, Lorday surely had fired up like a ball of fire, rolling and rolling, impetuous and hungry for quarrel.

"The people you have entrusted her with lived in that small community and when they passed away – while she was still a child, the captain of the barracks took her in. She took over from him as he had no other descendants." Illyrio spoke calmly coming to Jorah's help. Esther fell back into his chair and soon they all went back to their seats, grounding the information in their minds, but secretly wishing for the others to take the decision for them.

"Did he know? The Captain – who she was?" Esther wanted to make sure by all means that her origins remained hidden, even though now it didn't serve him anymore.

"We don't know, but if he had, the markets would have buzzed with that knowledge by now." The boy took Jorah back to his seat and as he wrapped the cape around his legs he heard Lorday mumble, discontent and regretful.

"Maybe someone should've kept an eye on her." His eyes went up looking for Esther. "You were supposed to look out for her!"

"I sent her away! –" But Jorah interrupted him abruptly.

"He thought she'd die. Or at least he hoped for it. Why look after the dead?" Illyrio looked at Sir Mormont appreciating his undying outspoken character. He was the best mediator he'd ever met and it was only because he mediated using the truth, and not language tools. The truth was a blunt weapon. It always penetrated inside and it always hurt terribly until it did, because the truth has no smooth edges. It's just a burden to be carried and it's better consumed quickly, like bitter medicine. And Jorah was one healer that fed the truth with a tiny little tea spoon until you couldn't take it anymore.

"Sir Mormont will go talk to her. Let us all meet home in a month from now and see what news he brings."

"A month? If he rides hard he should be there in no more than four days." The noble who so easily did the math sat back in his chair immediately when Illyrio speared him with admonishing eyes.

"I am sure you have noticed the struggle Sir Mormont has gone through to meet us here today. His condition does not allow him to ride hard! And more so, if you think Leora Stekara will learn to feel for the family who abandoned her or fight for the country that never recognized her as rightful heir to the throne – then maybe you should accompany Jorah on his journey, or better yet, make the journey yourself and tell us how it went." The Magister looked around waiting for volunteers, but as presumed, there were none. "Jorah will meet with us in a month's time. Until then let's pray to keep safe, and to keep safe, we must stay low."

Esther bowed his head caught between the ongoing urge to stop this madness at once and the impotence of having to face that child again. Lorday left, revolted on the surface. Yet, deep inside, he knew Illyrio would win, right from the beginning. The man was set to win the crowds; it's what he did best. And if the burden of destroying the kingdom came down on the Magister's shoulders and he accepted it as such, then he, Sir Lorday of the House of Narka shall not interfere. His little hands curled around the small velvet bag and the golden coins sang for him as he quickened the pace to enter his chariot. He loved the sound of money. He would go home and count his savings again, his properties. His everything. It's what he truly cared about. And when the time would come, he would lean whichever way the wind would blow for he too, was always a winner.


	3. Chap 2  The Man behind the Mask

**The Man behind the Mask**

"Just keep it together, you can do this!" Cedric pulled hard on the straps to tighten the armor around the waist. The captain balanced unsteadily as the lieutenant buckled the heavy protection gear. Behind the metal chainmail the heart raced madly, forcing the sweat to push out through the skin and mingle with the dirty hair. Sand and dust and a terrible itch under the helmet, but the captain ignored it. Making the mind disobey the panic of the heart was a terribly hard thing to do, especially now. Cedric finished armoring that weakened body and went around making sure everything was in place. Two black pearls shone bright from under the visor and the lieutenant stopped to sustain that depth rippling with doubt and fear.

"You are going to do just fine! Just like you did until now! Do you hear me?" The black gems blinked a few times but Cedric wasn't sure whether it was as a response to his encouragement or because of the sweat dripping heavy on the eyelids. "Breathe Captain! Breathe, we are right behind you!"

"They want us to surrender!" the words came out swiftly and sharp, like the hissing of a snake and the lieutenant pulled back with a smile. For a moment there he had actually feared his leader had lost the courage that had kept them alive so far.

"Yes they do…"

"I will kill that bastard with my own two hands! My own two fucking hands Cedric…!" The weight of the armor made the captain draw a step back, like a wounded animal. "I am tired…"

"Then let's finish this; so you can rest and I can finally have a pint without being interrupted all the time!" Those dry lips, which had lost color many weeks before, smiled at last. A crooked childish smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Let's turn this war around Cedric!" The captain pushed the door open and stepped out into the dirt road. It was late afternoon and the chalky light hurt those black pebbles even from under the shade of the helmet. Painful wrinkles formed above the eyebrows gathering all the moisture in the thin lines carved across the dusty forehead. "There's a storm coming. We need to move fast."

"Just keep calm and do as we planned." Cedric walked fast trying to keep up with his leader who had suddenly grown wings. They stopped in front of the massive wooden gates and one of the soldiers brought the horse closer.

"No. I'll walk." The horse neighed when pushed aside. The captain kept a strong hold on the reins for a moment longer. The armor was heavy, the back was broken under the weight of the weapons; the sword pulled down heavily on the weakened knees. The horse offered a steady support to keep up right without the soldiers around fearing their leader might fall right before the final strike in this wretched war that'd been going on for too long now. Cedric grabbed the captain by the shoulders helping along as they walked towards the gate.

"Are you sure you don't need the horse? It can help you escape faster if something goes wrong! Captain?"

"Just give me my cape!"

Cedric stopped, confused with the request. The cape would've just added to the weight of the entire military outfit, but the captain was right. The enemy had to be impressed with every small detail; it was now or never that the fate of these walls would be decided. He closed the metal pins and the material dropped burdensome in the dirt. A quick, sharp, but deep exhale and the captain stepped forward dragging the cape behind. Cedric watched the audacious figure of his leader shrunken in the distance. Once outside the gates the wind stormed in, dancing with the folds of the long cape. The torn edges of the white material flew relentlessly, swiping the dirt from around the leather shoes, allowing it to settle on the toes sticking out a bit too much from the sandals. Then the feet stopped abruptly, the pebbles stumbled upon the raunchy ankles. The wind and the silence; the wind through the trees and the grass. Whatever was left of that grass now stained with the blood of many, mixed with the soil spit from under the hooves of angry horses. The heart beat growing stronger against the wind. The captain's lips parted, dry and sore and the hot steamy breath came out forcefully as if through a broken rusty pipe. Behind the visor the eyes fixed the three men standing further away, assessing the situation. Behind them the armies of Wolof were waiting; waiting for the outcome of this meeting. The three men came closer and as they walked the captain couldn't help glimpsing to the sides of the forest thinking of what armies might be lurking in there. _Focus_! One man of the enemy party came closer; all three were fully armed for battle; all three had their hands on the handle of their swords. The air stopped coming out through the mouth and bulked painfully through the nose, like too much liquor coming back the wrong way.

"Captain! Standing tall I see, for a man your age and…" he looked away as if actually caring to find the right words. "… considering the rough encounters we've had for the past month. I am amazed at your resilience and strength." His words dug dipper hoping to find the secret of this unbroken enemy that Captain Dascara had proved to be. "I left to battle being told an old man would face me, but there is nothing old about you Captain! What is your secret? Maybe one day you shall share it with me." The man paced slowly before the captain, taking his time in asking the questions. His attitude betrayed his suspicion as to what laid behind the mask; behind this undaunted spirit of a military senior. "You are very quiet Captain. I remind you, you are here to negotiate the terms of your surrender. Silence will not help nor is my patience limitless."

Behind the helmet the black eyes hawked at the prey pacing in circles, waiting for the adrenaline to kick in.

"Fine! Maybe you are too exhausted to even speak. Then I shall tell you my terms, knowing you are not in the position to have your own terms anyway… I will let your people live and remain in the fortress in exchange for your resources and full access to your army. They should follow me whenever I call upon them." The man stopped with his back at the captain, his hand pulling harder on the sword handle. "As for you, you can remain captain of the fortress as long as I am certain that you will abide by my rule when I say so."

The adrenaline had reached its maximum; the eyelids dropped heavily blackening everything around for just a moment. One deep breath and then clear vision.

"What say you Captain? You seem like a reasonable man!"

"Not at all." The voice came out slowly, deliberate, sweet and delicate. The man turned around to face the captain taking a step closer in defiance, but the time for intimidation was over. The Captain reached for the helmet sticking the fingers under the visor to push it up more easily. A moment of hesitation - in the far back, the people were watching from the town walls waiting for their leader to stop the blood shed. The Captain felt the pressure of their stare in the back of the head, but gripped harder on the edges of the helmet, taking it off. The metal slid up the temples in the clatter of the chain mail, then fell hard to the ground. The wind blew and a few strands of long chestnut hair went up in the air getting caught in the metal pins of the armor. It was a tangled greasy crest, stuck to the head, braided into something unrecognizable but beyond that there was a small oval face, with big almond eyes, that had lost the black shade once the sun shone upon them. Tall bony cheekbones and a small mouth, dry white lips, small pointy chin and a long skinny nose. But those eyes, those eyes stood out like lit candles in the dark and the man remained hypnotized with the vision.

"I am no man." The voice broke the spell and the three men rustled not knowing what to make of this apparition. They had heard rumors, but in battle all rumors vanquished when that weapon swished cutting down through their armies. They looked at Captain Dascara's heavy sword resting in its sheath bolted to the massive leather belt buckled up tight around the small waist. Small waist… the man took a step closer observing the young woman standing before him. He had never looked at her this way until then and now it appeared all too obvious. He believed a time-stricken old man lay hidden behind the layers of metal; that at times the swing of his sword was careless due to the weakness of bony curled fingers, that his voice was so thin because the strength had left his withered body. But by the Mighty Powers, not only was he wrong but he also felt like a fool standing there speechless.

"Leora…" he looked away, trying to put on a smile that would save his image in front of the men. "At least tell me that I haven't fought you all this time." He turned around with an even wider smile, but it looked distorted by growing anger and biting self irony. His question remained unanswered; Leora watched him carefully, unwilling to satisfy his ego. "Fine then. It doesn't matter." He turned around abruptly, passing by his two commanders, darting for his army. His subjects stayed behind, still unsure of what to do. A few steps away, the man turned around just as suddenly fixing her with an angry and firm stare. "There shall be no surrender. Your deceit is an insult to the Wolofs! So I have decided! We've been playing this game for too long!"

"Lord Alchantar!" Her voice rose harder and more powerful than she had anticipated. And it sounded even louder when all other movement disappeared and just her voice remained to battle with the wind waiting for an answer. But Lord Alchantar Wolof decided to pay her back with the same ignorance and kept walking signaling his army to prepare for battle. "Fine then…" Leora grabbed the helmet from the ground. She put it back on with a punch hating how it hurt the top of her head but anger made it so much easier to resist the urge of taking it off and throwing it at Alchantar.

She turned around as well stepping hard and fast to reach her people. Cedric saw her coming from the top of the walls and flew down the stairs to meet her. Once inside the yard, Leora closed the gates behind her, supporting her weight against them. She took a moment to inhale deeply the scent of her land, of her home; the adrenaline was dying out and her people were watching. Cedric slowed down the pace as he came down the last steps and waited for her to decide her move. She pushed away from the gates, looking around – a few roosters behind the poor houses, the crying of a baby somewhere in the distance – and all eyes on her. She threw the cape to the ground, unbuckled the leather strips sneaking out of the heavy armor letting a trail of clothing behind her as she came close to the stables. Her face betrayed the worry, the shame, and the weakness of having lied to her own people. But this was the end of the road and there was no turning back. Her mouth opened and time stopped together with the wind around her and she felt invaded by a violent wave of heat. Her chin came down and she pushed on her temples to keep the pulsation at bay. Cedric came behind her, but she didn't hear him.

"Captain…"

It took her another moment before she could let go of her own anxiety and look at the weary dirty faces of the old men and women, wounded soldiers, exhausted mothers and crying babies making her little fragile universe.

"I…" she took a deep sigh. "We don't have much time, but…" She rushed her sweaty fingers through the tangled mess on her head, turning around towards Cedric. "How do I do this Cedric, how do I do this? There is no time! Wolof –"

"There must be time for this, or you'll face Wolof alone! Now it's the time. "

"I didn't want this!" She stepped closer grabbing Cedric by the vest, more like bringing him closer than pushing him away in a desperate attempt to have him take the responsibility. "I've kept them safe, I've kept them alive all this time! They have to show me some lenience! If they don't, then who will?... I didn't want this…"

"The Kentaras are proud people, yet they followed you everywhere without even knowing the truth."

"They followed Captain Dascara, not Leora! You should've taken the lead, you and Ortezza! Not me!" Above and around them people waited for their quarrel to end. Leora looked lost and angry and slowly their faces changed, recognizing the woman underneath all that dirt and exhaustion. The healer and the keeper of their small community. They'd never seen her that way, and somehow it made them fear more the reality of not having a leader. The seriousness of their situation sank in, disturbing even the elders who seemed to have nothing more to live for.

"Pull yourself together woman! If we came to you, we came because we knew you could handle this! Look at them! They are not judging you, they just need to understand. They are scared enough as it is; don't make it worse on them. On yourself. They need you and you need them."

Leora took a few steps back and forth until she finally decided the truth was the best explanation, but she looked down unable to look her people in the eye.

"I have… I am…" _For whatever I am worth, give me the words!_ "My father… Captain Dascara, passed away four months ago. And I have kept this from you, fearing… fearing…" _Come on!_ The sounds of Wolof's army getting ready interrupted the flow of her thoughts. Her head came up slowly, her eyes narrowed in the dying sun. The yellowish light of the sunset carved deeper in her pale features, making her face look bonier than it was. "I have feared for myself and for us. I am not a man of war; I am not even a man…" she smiled bitterly, yet amused. "But I am the daughter of my father and he wouldn't have seeded worry and fear in your hearts, not at a time like this." She licked her chapped lips fast, adding some moisture so she could go on speaking. "I did not mean to deceive you nor to bring you in harm's way. I am just as scared, yet you – you have empowered me through your courage and will to live. I did not seek this statute, but I am honored that I had the chance to fulfill it, however best I could." She felt her head splitting in two with the pain in her bones and the exhaustion of the sleepless nights. "There is no time. Do what you will with me, but right now, we must go out there and show Wolof what we really want! And I for one, I do not want to survive! I want to live! Live without the fear of being invaded for greed and power! Live without the burden of being owned and pushed around like cattle!" She closed her eyes for a moment and felt so dizzy she almost lost balance. Cedric caught her in time but she couldn't stand on her own anymore. "Cedric!" She looked desperate and her eyes floated in tears.

"You're alright, you're alright Captain!"

"I am just a woman, just a woman and I am tired."

"Captain!..." Ortezza stood before her, holding her sword. Her father's sword.

"General…"

"The men are waiting. As you said, we don't have much time." Leora surged a faint smile but her head was still defiant to her will. Above them, on the walls the soldiers had gathered in formation, getting their bows ready. Down below, all her men, from the youngest to the oldest, had closed in, with swords and pitch forks and whatever else they could get their hands on. Leora swallowed in hard and took hold of her own body again.

"Stand by me Ortezza and when this is over I will be out of your life."

Ortezza groaned with a smile he alone could have that scared more people than it ever encouraged. Little by little, a few of the Kentara women came in bringing her clothes, silent and obedient, in approval of her leadership. Cedric took the armor trying to fit it back on her slender body.

"I can't wear that anymore. It's too heavy."

"I will not let you go out there unprotected. You've been hurt enough."

"Cedric! Listen to me. I can't wear it. I only have enough energy to think and hold the sword. You be my protection!" her candid broken smile shook his conviction. Ortezza handed her the sword, nodding in agreement.

"Stay with the men and do not attack unless I give the signal." This time she accepted mounting the horse; Ortezza left on foot followed by some of the men. Cedric got on his hoarse and rushed behind her. The gates opened and before leaving the relative safety of her home she turned around one more time. The Kentara had been her people for as long as she could remember and even after finding out the truth about her origin, she did not care to leave them behind. This was home; her life was in this place. She knew every crack in the walls, every little patio in the market; she had witnessed all their fears and all of their joy. _This is home_. She reigned the horse into the field and as the gates closed behind her the Kentaras rushed up the fortress' walls to witness their unexpected heroic march slowly towards a certain death.

"Do you think they've split their army?" Leora looked again towards the forest. "Do you think they have men in the woods?"

"Alchantar is too proud and too hurt right now to consider a surprise attack. I think he will come at us blindly, full front." Cedric patted the crest of his horse, starring blankly at the enemy grouping in the distance. "But if they split, then Ortezza will take care of them."

"We are too few in numbers. Stray only for a moment and we shall fail." The lieutenant kept silent not wanting to confirm her fears.

"Just keep an eye on Alchantar. He will come for you."

Leora smiled and this time it was sunshine on her face and Cedric smiled in return. "Yes, he needs to make an example of the woman who deceived him!" She kicked the horse quickening the pace towards the enemy. "We must look ridiculous. Just the two of us, with no army, crossing an empty field to face the terrifying armies of the Wolofs." Cedric chuckled looking at her all skinny, filthy and unrecognizable compared to her usual self. "I mean, lieutenant, I strongly believe I am all the man Alchantar needs to face. If you noticed the bags under my eyes, you saw they are bigger than his bollocks!" Cedric laughed and it somehow woke her up from the numbness she'd been feeling since they had left the village.

"Leora, there is not a man out there who wouldn't look upon you as a woman. Yet there are very few who will know not to underestimate your kind. And Alchantar is about to learn that lesson now."

"I am not a soldier Cedric and he knows that. My knowledge of war and strategy is scarce; my strength in battle is what it is; a woman's strength. I fooled him with my weakness into believing he was fighting an old man. That says it all … If we lasted for this long, we have done so because of you."

"Don't make it easier for a man to underestimate you by doing it yourself. Take any woman from the village and bring her here and you will see what I mean."

"Yet those women stand their ground with pitch forks waiting to fight for their lives."

"There are many heroes behind closed doors. But only one walks this path with me now." Leora looked at him and she felt grateful for having him there. It was hard taking on the military role of her father. She feared the lie and she feared death. She was a survivor, but the rejection and the loneliness of having been banished and abandoned as a child had grown as a tumor inside her brain, spreading to her heart, crippling her courage. Evert since her adoptive parents had perished and Dascara became her protector, he had provided her with the safety that cured her, temporarily. Now that medicine was gone and she had to face all of her fears alone; and now this.

"Captain!... Captain!" Cedric's voice rang louder in her ears and she startled from her flashback. Alchantar Wolof was standing tall in the saddle of his black horse. Behind him, the black armors of his army mirrored the last shades of the sun as it drowned in the forest; Leora saw the faces of monsters being drawn in the distance as the dark approached.

"They are not that many…" her voice was faint and discouraging.

"Keep saying that…" Leora smiled with her eyes fixed on the long line of soldiers. She took in a deep breath, raised her chin up and spoke firmly.

"Let's pray he falls for this." Cedric's head turned around slowly ready to say something but it was too late. "Are we going to wait here all night, Sir Wolof? Because if we must, then I should have my men light a few torches. I wouldn't want you to miss the slaughter!" Cedric's eyebrow creased in surprise. _Is she mad?_ Leora turned towards him and winked.

"I thought you told me to be bold." Behind her a shout broke the silence; Alchantar was on the move. Cedric reined his horse back, drawing his sword.

"No, I told you to not underestimate yourself, not act stupidly!" Leora's smile faded away for a short moment.

"But it worked, didn't it?" Cedric shook his head in disbelief. "Get ready to give the signal. On my mark!" Leora took her sword out as well, keeping it down below, aligned to her right leg. The horse hammered in the dirt with his legs, scared at the dust rising from under the feet of the approaching enemy.

"Steady boy!" Leora tapped the tip of the sword against her knee, waiting.

"Wait! Wait!" Cedric gripped harder on the handle, controlling the horse with his left hand. Alchantar rode like the wind, coming in fast. If there was any force left in her joints, it had to serve her now.

"Now!" Cedric urged her with a jolt. Her arm came up holding the sword as strong and as high as she could. A roar so loud so scary, so thick came out of her lungs it surprised even her.

"NOW!" Her scream reverberated through the air and into the deep woods surrounding Lake Tikaya and the echo raised the heads of her men hiding in the brush.

From the shadows of the two-centuries old trees Ortezza narrowed his eyes to follow the straight line of his arrow. His fingers clang on the feathery end, pulling harder on the cord. The bow arched, the pointy metal head stared at the dusky skies, wrapped in a cloth imbued in oil. A boy approached him quickly with a torch and set it on fire. Ortezza watched the flames for a second, readjusting his position and before it consumed the wood he released the arrow with a sound he enjoyed and appreciated more than any other Kentara archer. The arrow traveled high above the woods, into the reddish skies and it look like a beacon ablaze, cutting through the obscurity of the night fall. It fell to the ground forcing the Wolofs to halt, surprised at the ball of fire landing at their feet. Alchantar was the first to realize the danger. But it was too late. His eyes sparkled with the fury of having been tricked twice by the same man. Woman. He groaned aloud and madness took over, realizing there was no going back. But before he could push forward the woods sheered, as if giants walked through them. Silence and then the sound of tens of bows being released at once. The sky was set on fire, the death curtain rained down on the enemy burning everything in its path and as it reached the ground the flames rocked to immense heights. Leora's horse neighed, jumping on his back feet, struggling with the light and heat.

_**Early morning same day**_

"_Use the time you have and do it when we're gathering the dead. It is our only chance not to be spotted." Leora walked down the hall, with her hair still wet from the early bath she had. The water was cold, but she needed it. "The men must move quickly. Dig fast, small trenches. We don't need something big, just enough to fit a handful of people."_

"_You should get some sleep." Cedric stepped lightly for a 42-year-old man; she was the one looking twice her age, withered and broken. _

"_Does that mean I don't appeal to you anymore?" The lieutenant smiled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He wasn't comfortable talking women things with women, yet he was one of the most decent characters in men she'd ever witnessed. "I will try. For a bit." She faced him suddenly. "But do have the men dig the trenches. Do exactly as we discussed! Take the –"_

"_Take the carts to gather the bodies, send some of our men to help. Position the carts so that Wolof doesn't see what we're doing, dig shallow trenches, hide the men inside –"_

"_Don't forget to give them food and water, they'll be trapped there the whole day!"_

"_Food and water and hay to put on top of the trenches. On the way back leave some small hay stacks behind and pour oil on them –"_

"_So we light it when it all begins!"_

"_So we light it when it all begins."_

_They rested from the excitement of going over the battle plan. It was a very fragile strategy and if the Wolofs suspected anything, it would go to ruin and they would be lost. They were outnumbered and resources were almost finished. They had to be able to travel soon and trade to feed the village otherwise they would perish. Or worse, fall under foreign rule. Leora's eyes shadowed with the terrible thought of being trapped in her own home. She sighed and it came from the depth of her very soul, but Cedric refrained from doing the same so at least one of them kept his composure. _

"_It will work." Cedric nodded in an attempt to convince both of them. Leora watched him tenderly and his eyes remained fixed on hers. The lieutenant was a handsome man, with deep blue eyes and silvery stubble, tanned skin and sweet smile. A lean figure, broad shoulders and slender waistline. But Leora liked his hands the best. Strong, battered hands, marked by cuts and burns; a pair of hands that could please a woman with their roughness and strong hold, but she feared letting him any closer. She feared allowing herself any closer to him too. Cedric remained motionless waiting for that response he'd been looking for, for years and that deep inside, he knew would never come. _

"_Thank you." Her eyes left his, and she felt relieved from the pressure. Cedric nodded, unable to speak. _

"_Get some rest. I cannot protect you against your destructive self." Leora gasped for air; it was her turn to nod speechless. Cedric left to see to their plan in motion. She stayed behind and slid down the wall with her head resting on her knees. It would have been so easy giving into the temptation of having Cedric to herself, in more ways than just one. But she did not dare. She knew what she wanted; her dreams and wishes were clear as daylight. Or were they? She was weak, undecided as to how to steer her life in the right direction. Maybe she was stubborn. _Or maybe you're just stupid!_ Leora groaned unhappily, slowly hitting her forehead against the bruised knees and the painful spots on her skin hurt with every movement. She didn't know who she was anymore, or what she wanted at times. And beyond and above everything she had no one to turn to anymore. In truth, she never really did. _

"Down!" Cedric grabbed her by the hair pulling her hard towards him, just in time to avoid a sword flying her way. "Be careful!" He threatened her in such a caring way; it scared her to get hurt so through her pain she didn't hurt him. She gasped and pushed forward taking on the next soldier challenging her. She had lost her balance falling off the horse. Her shoulder ached, bloody and bruised and there was blood coming down her cheek but she couldn't tell where it was coming from. The man struck with all his might and she slipped on the dewy grass. She fought back, leaning forward to burry her heels in the muddy soil, pinning her body so she could keep her balance. Her elbows hurt from the hit still reverberating through the flesh and prayed the Mighty Powers gave her enough resilience to make it through the night. Cedric hit a soldier to the ground and stuck his sword in the one ramming her down. The man fell to his knees with blood foaming at his mouth and Leora pulled back with a grimace. Cedric took a quick look at her and wiped the coagulated blood of her eyebrow.

"You're not doing badly for an improvised soldier. Did I ever tell you that?" He rejected an attack coming from the side sending Leora to the ground with a hit of the elbow in her chest. "By my blood Leora!" He grabbed her forcing her to her feet.

"I'm alright!"

"Don't shadow me, fight alongside me! We must get through!" Leora nodded, trying to regain her breath. She felt a pain surge in her ribs but tried her best to ignore it. A few more insecure steps and they almost reached the trenches. As if they knew, the Kentaras jumped out with a terrifying growl sending the enemy in confusion and panic. Many of them rushed into the flames, rolling in the grass to extinguish the fire and the burning pain. Others tried to flee back but landed on the swords of those coming out from their hide outs. Alchantar was trapped and in the dark he couldn't control his men anymore. The fire was scaring the horses away and many were left on foot, being cut down like tall grass in summer, stepping on each other like cattle being rushed into pounds. Leora herself was lost in the chaos and became oblivious to the danger. Alchantar saw her through the blaze and reined his horse among the men, kicking madly at both men and animals to reach her faster. A soldier ran into her so powerfully he knocked her down. She tried to get up but as she did, another one ran past her so fast he hit her in the head blinding her with incredible pain. Her head jerked to the left so violently blood flew out of her mouth in spatters and she felt her neck had broken. Everything was slowly growing black and smaller, the sounds of the battle were fading away to then burst back loud inside her head, but just for an instant. Flames and heat… Something wet on her face and she thought it was her tears.

"Leora!" Cedric dropped to his knees, throwing the sword aside. He put his arm beneath her supporting her weight against his legs. "Leora!" Her face was flooded in blood; her lips were broken so severely her mouth was almost unrecognizable. Her eye was swollen and there was blood dripping from her hair, mingled with dirt and sweat. He turned her head around and saw the other eye opened and staring. "Blink! Blink for fuck's sake, blink!" And she did. But he waited to see her doing it again before making sure she was alive. He pushed her up on his shoulder sticking his foot in the ground to help both their weights up when a sheer pain bladed through his right leg forcing him back down. Behind him Alchantar pulled his sword from the lieutenant's flesh pleased with killing two birds with one stone. Leora fell on her back with a deep moan, while Cedric remained on all fours trying to cope with the pain in his leg.

"Up, you maggot! On your knees!" He pulled on his shirt bringing him where he wanted then forced his head backwards exposing his face to the light. "You want to face your death with your chin up, don't you, _choula_!" Alchantar felt better calling Cedric names in his ancient tribal dialect. At the end of the day he was nothing but a tribe leader, no matter his pretentions of a civilized and mannered nation. His people were nothing but a bigger village, his forefathers had worked the land alongside the Ketaras for many centuries, but now he wanted to grow in the eyes of the rising powers in the East. He wanted to be a politician, no longer a man of honor, but a man of games. Cedric fought him and he strengthened his hold on the lieutenant trying to make him succumb. When he couldn't, he just hit him in the open wound, making Cedric crawl.

"You dressed your army in shiny armors, put flags up your spears and changed your name into a Sire… but behind the jewels and the wise talk, you're nothing but a _cayuga_!" Alchantar hurried to hit him again but Cedric rammed on his hip with his shoulder, pushing him back enough for him to stand and engage the Wolof leader in combat. Leora moved her head slightly, glimpsing at their struggle with her good eye. Somewhere, mingled with the pain, was the sorrow of being impotent, of watching Cedric being killed; of not seeing this battle through like she had promised her people. _I am no leader… I am…_

"Argh!"" Cedric dropped Alchantar to the ground, but he followed him, hit cowardly from behind by one of the Wolof soldiers. An unseen and barely perceivable sound made the soldier turn around enough to take a full blow in between the eyes. The arrow went deep, spearing through the skull, piercing the skin at the back of his head. His eyes wide open, he fell on his back still looking at Ortezza keeping a steady hold on his bow.

"Take her! Take her!" Cedric yelled at the general to do the right thing and leave him behind to save their leader. Ortezza disobeyed as usual and came crushing down on Alchantar who was trying to strangle the lieutenant. The Wolof's face got smashed in the dirt, the skin on his cheek bone split and he cried with the pain. Ortezza reached for Cedric to help him up.

"Take her you ding-bat!" The lieutenant pushed him away and Ortezza finally gave in and scooped Leora up in his arms making his way back among the corpses and the wounded. His archers were chasing away the remaining Wolof survivors. Who would have thought a handful of swordsmen and a pack of archers would put an end to this entire ordeal? Leora saw them running; she saw Alchantar wobbling towards his camp, angered, with his ego broken and his name in ashes. Her head fell to the side, dangling down on Ortezza's shoulder. Cries. Pleas. Fires… Her role was over. The pretender could leave the stage. Darkness. All lights went out.


	4. Chap 3 Whisper to the dying

**Whisper to the Dying**

The horse snuffled, pushing the air out forcefully making the large soft nostrils flutter under the pressure. Its feet went deep into the muddy soil; last autumn leaves got tangled in the long hair around its hooves looking like golden garnishments around the ankles of the animal. Sweat came down its neck making the black short hair shine in the few stray rays of light glimpsing at the traveler though these thick woods. The animal shook its head making the crest fall to the opposite side and it seemed to enjoy the cool breeze under the heavy locks of coarse hair. Jorah patted the animal, pulling gently on the right ear.

"Come on you lazy brute! We're almost there…" The horse neighed upset with the words. Its powerful legs tensed and with one last struggle it got them both outside the shadowy grasp of the forest. Jorah narrowed his eyes in expectation of the morning sun but as he stepped into the open field he was welcomed by clouds of smoke rising to the sky in twirls of black and orange. The horse stopped restless with the sight; it sensed the heat coming from the burnt grass, the smell of the incinerated bodies. Joarh's lips parted and as he breathed in, the cinders made him cough. He covered his mouth with the cape, pulling on the reins to guide the horse around the dying fires. He heard distant sounds of voices he didn't recognize, penetrating through the morning silence and he bent in the saddle trying to make out who that was. As he closed in on the walls of the fortress the smoke cleared a bit and he looked across the field. Small carts pulled by mules, moved slowly among the torn flags and broken spears, stopping every now and then to gather the bodies. A few women, holding their skirts up, stepped carefully checking on each body, looking for survivors. From the looks of it, chances were slim if none at all to find anyone alive. A young woman dropped on her knees when she found a dear one gone. His cape slid from his hand but caught up in his own forgetfulness, the smoke didn't bother him anymore. Their faces were smudged by cinders and tears had drawn visible traces of pain down their dirty cheeks. One of the carts came back and the gates opened to let them in. Jorah followed right behind it but two spears crossed to cut his path.

"Good day Sire!" The soldier addressed him politely but his spear didn't move an inch. He looked worn but his eyes had remained vigilant.

"I come to see the Captain Dascara's daughter." Jorah waited in silence, allowing the soldier to measure him from head to toe. He understood the man's fears and gave him the time to feel safe and let him in. But the spear still didn't move.

"Lady Stekara is not to receive anyone at this time." The soldier refrained from sighing and his face congested with the obvious effort. "As you can see, our situation requires all of her attention and she cannot see anyone right now."

"Has she been harmed?" Jorah observed him carefully; there was a young man behind that helmet, not older than 20, shook up, dirty and exhausted, but loyal and caring. His face betrayed all his emotions so he trusted his words because they were mirrored in his eyes. The soldier quivered for a short moment looking back as to find approval and answers from his mates. They looked at each other in silence and he looked back Joarh worried.

"Allow me to see her. I can help. Tell her Sir Jorah Mormont is here." The soldier lowered his weapon trying to decide whether leaving his post was a good thing to do. Ortezaa had made it clear that they had to stay and guard the gate and the people outside the walls.

"Go! I'll take your place. Come back fast before Ortezza comes back!" His brother in arms encouraged him with a pat on the shoulder, pushing him aside so he can replace him. The soldier signaled Jorah to follow him. He walked fast, almost running, through the small tangled patios that lead into the market.

"Wait here!" the soldier continued running and soon he disappeared behind the houses that covered the entrance to the Captain Dascara's house. Jorah sharpened his senses and heard the hustle inside the gates to the villa and knew his arrival had caused them to agitate. He leaned back in the saddle, trying to keep calm. This was the worst possible time to come and discuss inheritance with the lost daughter of the Targaryen King; that is if she was still alive. Jorah pressed down on his temples, trying to contain the tiredness and thickness in his head between the sweaty fingers. He inhaled and when the air came out, it hurt. He coughed and it felt like his lungs were turning inside out. _You old bastard, you have to die sometime!_

"Sir Mormont! Please come!" The soldier appeared out of no where and urged him to follow him. He kicked the horse and arrived at the gates in no time. He passed underneath it and somehow the image before his eyes killed the urge to cough. In the silence of the small settlement his presence had stirred a wave of uneasiness. Yet, as he walked among the soldiers scattered on the sides of the patio, the only sound was the hooves of his horse hitting on the stone pavement. So silent that it echoed among the walls, sending chills up his spine. From afar the echo of his presence mingled with the mourning of the widows and the crying of babies.

"Sir Mormont! To what do we owe the honor of your visit in such dark times?" Ortezza stood before him, all bloody and wounded. Jorah's eyes glimpsed for a moment at the dirty blood soaked bandage around his right arm.

"I thought the dark had dissipated at first light." Jorah took a short look around as he dismounted. "But not in these parts I see." He left the horse with one of the men and came before Ortezza bowing. "The Wolofs? I thought they had put to rest their troubles with you."

"I see you know much about our matters, Sir Jorah. Come, eat and drink with me. Now that I didn't die, I can dine."

"Dine in early morning?" Ortezza puffed in response to the remark.

"I lose track of time." He entered the dark hallway and through the obscurity Jorah heard his voice again, thick and hoarse. "And I didn't have time for dinner last night!" Jorah chuckled but it turned into a new vengeful coughing episode. Ortezza looked back as they went up the stairs. "Tea for you."

"If I am to meet my makers, than I shouldn't waste my time on tea."

Ortezza smiled and in the dim light of the torches Jorah enjoyed the barbarian smile of a brute tall muscular man like Ortezza. How could a man be so gentle with such a fragile weapon like the bow, he could never understand. Yet his magical sausage fingers had made history.

"It looks like you're in a hurry to meet your ancestors as well." Jorah pointed at his wound but Ortezza dismissed it with a snarl.

"Sometimes I get bored sitting in one place firing arrows so I must get up and crack some skulls, if you understand me! When shooting arrows it's all in the eye you know!" And he pressed on his eye with such strength Jorah thought it must've been painful. "I could sit down have pork chops and fire darts at the same time!" he kicked the doors open to the dinning room. Jorah smiled trying to keep up the pace. "But –" Ortezza turned around abruptly almost pushing his hands in Jorah's face. "I must always wash my hands!" Mormont observed him quietly; Ortezza was a big child with the tremendous skills of an archer. It seemed that the war had triggered his softer side and for now the child within had taken over. Ortezza stared emptily for a moment; despite the jovial look his tired eyes seemed to get a good grip of lucidity. His arms came down in defeat, his head tilted to the side, heavily. "I am growing old, but I am also going crazy. Forgive me My Lord."

"I wouldn't worry General. I do not share the same trust for sane people." Ortezza chuckled ashamed with his behavior but now that the soldier was back in control Jorah felt he could question him on more serious matters. They sat down at one of the long wooden tables.

"This place is not what it used to be." Jorah's voice sounded like he had made a sad discovery and his eyes laid upon this room for the first time.

"It has been like this for… a while." The two men looked at each other keeping quiet for a moment. "You know?" Ortezza hesitated and his voice was unrecognizable when he asked about their well kept secret. Jorah nodded without a word. "But how? No one outside this house knew, not even the people in the village. No one outside these walls!"

Jorah looked down, following the movement of his fingers when playing with the torn edges of his cape. His head came up slowly and his eyes pinned Ortezza's with a powerful look.

"No one knew outside these walls. But someone inside did."

**WWWWWWWW**

It felt like there was nothing else out there but her breathing, rhythmic and deep. The nothingness before her eyes grew darker with an approaching shadow that became bigger and bigger, like a round ball of dark grey with no definite contours, yet it kept gravitating slowly above her.

"Remind me to never let you go out there unprotected… ever, again!" Her lips parted. _Cedric!_ _Cedric!_ But nothing came out. The breathing became unsteady, no longer rhythmic, no longer deep. Just agitated; inside her head she urged the arms to raise and touch that face she couldn't see clearly but she must've had weights tied up to her wrists for they were too heavy to move. His palms cupped her face and it burnt with such immeasurable pain she moaned under his touch. She heard him swear, his palms shook a bit with the anger, but he didn't leave her. Instead he bent and cuddled his face gently against hers and the burn became even stronger but somehow, in all that pain, the climax of it, relaxed her. Words echoed through her head… _it only hurts when you touch fire; once you burn completely it becomes part of you_; and she let go, enjoying the slow death. Behind the closed eyelids, hot tears surfaced feeding the dry eyelids with much needed moisture. Her eyeballs were growing to incredible sizes or so she felt the moment she tried to rotate her eyes. Cedric's stubble brushing a bit rough on her cheek made that thought go away for a second.

"Cedric…" it was not a word, it was not a plea. It was a breath sounding like an attempt to utter a word and the lieutenant missed on it. Her fingers twitched impotent to cling on his arms and make him aware of her struggle. "Cedric." His face finally turned, his lips touching the corner of her mouth and he didn't stop there. Her heart skipped that one beat she didn't know she had anymore when he pressed his mouth on hers and beyond the mild sting of his unshaved beard she felt the moist of his lips and she did not want them to taste so good. She felt sucked in, all of her thoughts, her pain, her confusion, all of it and all of herself in that endless touch of his lips on hers. Her eyes opened and she struggled to blink hard and fast to clear the image of this man kissing her, to allow reality to slap her in the face so she could push him away. But no need. Next moment he was gone as if it had all been a dream; just a trace of his blue eyes lingered in her sight as he disappeared from the room. Nothingness again, but a nothingness she could understand clearly now.

**WWWWWWWW**

"Cedric!" Ortezza saw him entering the room, slowly, tired and unhappy. "How is she?" But Cedric didn't care to answer. He poured some wine and sat down at the other end of the table. "Still mad at me for that? She's safe now!"

"She could've been dead!"

"She –"

"Just leave it!" Cedric sipped from his wine but it tasted bitter. He sighed putting the cup down, slowly and calculated. "It will take weeks for her to recover. If not months."

"She will do fine. She is strong!"

"We've asked too much of her. We've put her through too much."

"This was her fight as well, she would have wanted in with or without us asking for her help." Ortezza sat back down keeping his eyes on Cedric, but the lieutenant ignored him still, turning the cup, round and round on the wooden table.

"We didn't ask for her help; we brought this war on her!"

"You blame yourself too much. She will recover –"

"She must." Cedric's hand froze on the cold metal of cup, his breathing steady, his senses sharp. He turned around slowly to look at the man who had just spoken. Jorah sustained his regard waiting for his questions, but Cedric never asked them. Jorah looked at Ortezza and the archer shifted position in the chair, uncomfortable with the situation.

"This is Sir Jorah Mormont, from –"

"I know who he is and I know where he is from." Cedric turned around staring into Jorah's surprised eyes. "What I do not know are the reasons for which he seeks Leora's fast recovery?"

"If you know who I am and where I am from, then you must know what I am doing here." Jorah kept his voice calm trying to sooth Cedric's temper with his reasonable approach.

"I've had other worries on my mind lately as to consider other people's problems."

"The problems of my people might soon be yours as well."

"I doubt the troubles of Viserys Targaryen's large and rich kingdom will ever match our small and insignificant tribal quarrels." Cedric's ironic tone did not diminish Jorah's determination to bring the conversation where he wanted it.

"That quarrel outside your walls must've left you few in numbers and poorer in resources."

"And that is just coming from the goodness of your heart, isn't it?" Jorah was ready to speak when Cedric got up abruptly, pushing the cup aside. He stepped towards the door, looking bitter and annoyed.

"Leora Stekara must live!" Jorah got up so abruptly, that he startled Ortezza who backed off almost knocking the chair back. Cedric turned around and despite the exhaustion of the battle, the wounds and the sleepless night, his anger was slowly boiling to a limit that would bring him close to the edge.

"What does a nobleman like yourself do so far from home in these troubled lands? There's nothing here that you or your people can benefit from! Our waters are murky enough without being stirred by your poison and intrigues! What business do you have with Leora? Why is she so important to you?"

Ortezza blinked a few times taking turns looking at Cedric and then at Jorah, and that fearful childish nature of his took over as he witnessed their match of egos. But eventually Jorah caught his eye with his prolonged silence and tense features. All of a sudden he looked anxious and his earlier calm vanished. He bent pressing on his chest strongly; his eyes flamed, swollen with the effort of resisting the urge to cough. But it was too powerful and he fell down in the chair with a rebuff of his earlier struggle to contain the horrible flu that had been tormenting him for weeks. He finally breathed; his eyes were in tears, his nostrils enlarged with the effort of sucking in the air he lacked because of his congested lungs. Ortezza looked puzzled and didn't know how to react, shifting his weight from one leg to another, trying to decide what to do. Cedric watched the man for a moment then poured another glass of wine pushing it under his nose.

"It won't save you, but it will give you enough time to tell me why you're here."

Jorah nodded and took the wine with shaky hands. He choked on it first, but soon he emptied the cup coming around a bit, enough for Ortezza to relax and drop back in the chair. Cedric remained pinned in the middle of the room, waiting.

"I am sure you know Leora is not Captain Dascara's natural daughter."

"And?"

"But do you know whose daughter she is?"

"Her parents died when she was still a child."

"They weren't her parents." Jorah waited for the two men to sieve through the information, but from their faces he knew they denied this truth.

"Her family were Tekaras. I knew her father!"

"Her family is not of these lands!"

"That woman was pregnant when she left for your kingdom to trade! I saw her!" Cedric frowned unable to understand why Mormont would scheme and lie in such way and for what purpose.

"She was pregnant indeed and she did deliver while she was in Pentos. But she gave birth to a stillborn in a small inn close to the market. The same night, another woman gave birth to a girl." Jorah wiped the sweat of his forehead, unlocking the pins to the cape. He pushed it aside making room for the cool air to relieve the hotness building up down his throat and into his chest. "A girl undesired by many. A threat; a bastard child."

"Bastard child of whom?" Ortezza looked at Jorah - his lips sealed, his eyes weary with the secret he was about to reveal. He blew his nose with a less noble gesture then reached for the cup again but it was empty. He looked at the emptiness inside for a second then his red eyes pierced into Cedric's waiting nervously for his secretive display to end.

"Aerys, the Mad King of the Eastern Kigdom. Father of Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen." Cedric's lips parted, going white and dry. He knew it before Jorah uttered the words. "Father of Leora Stekara, named after her natural mother, whom she has never met and will never meet." Jorah stopped, playing with the cup. "She was murdered the same evening." Cedric sat down, no longer interested in looking at Jorah. Somehow he knew the man was speaking the truth. "The girl was entrusted to the merchant family at the inn. Your people." Ortezza had frozen and only the slight movement of his chest said he was still alive and breathing.

"You've come to take her away." Cedric turned his head around with what seemed to be a painful move, overwhelmed by the burden of such a future. "I will not –" He stumbled in his own words. "You will not have her. She is happy here."

"If I don't have her, others will. And they don't plan on keeping her alive."

Cedric jumped hitting with his fist in the table.

"This is her home! These are her people! She knows nothing else!"

"This is a lie! Everything she knows is a lie! A lie that was meant to kill her! But her condemners were deceived and she lived!"

"Who were they? Who was it?"

"That does not matter now! Viserys Targaryen is dead. His sister has gone mad with the pain and the pressure. This country has no King, no Queen. No leader. Leora must return and claim what is rightfully hers." Jorah moved around the table bringing the cup with him. His hands were shaky as he poured more wine. "It's not safe for her here anymore!"

Cedric hid his face in his palms, rubbing hard to wake up to this horrible reality. Nothing in the past 22 years of life since he had witnessed Leora grow at his side, had prepared him for this news. The heir to the Targaryen throne had been under his nose for so long and he even had the audacity to fall for her. His eyes shut tight, his fists clenched so fiercely the knuckles turned white.

"Cedric, my words in her ear will be like whispers to the dying without your help. Meaningless and painful."

"How do you know my name?" Jorah smiled finishing the second cup of wine.

"I have walked these lands for many years now and found out more than some people want me to know. And I tell you, this – this world will change. Your little battle with the Wolofs is just the beginning, or do you think he will give up so easily?"

"What are you saying?" Cedric looked at Jorah, weakened by the disease and the wine. He rested against the table sustaining the lieutenant's disarmed regard.

"I am saying that Alchantar will seek revenge. And he will ask the one man that can help him, the only man that has the power to subdue all tribes and bring them together, by word or by sword."

"Khal Drogo…"

"The Dothraki leader will take this chance if he finds it appealing."

"Drogo would have no benefit from this and will not take Alchantar's war on his shoulders just for amusement. Unlike the Wolofs he appreciates the life of his people too much to send them to their death for game!"

"For game, he would not. But for a higher prize, he would." The two Tekaras looked at Sir Mormont in wonder. "If Alchantar convinces Drogo to unite all the tribes under his rule, you will not be able to face their armies together."

"The tribes have never been united. It has been our way for centuries. We are not like the North people. What would our unity bring to all of us that we don't already have as we are now? We trade, we fight and we live together, sharing the same lands as our ancestors did, for hundreds of years!"

"My friend, your heart is too kind and your mind too innocent to see the bigger plan behind this small idea." Jorah took the flagon and drank straight out of it, letting the wine drop from his untrimmed moustache down the corner of his mouth, on his chin. "You are not the target. If Alchantar brings the tribes together they will be strong enough to seek a bigger pay in the East. One that has always separated the tribes from the riches of the North, cutting your trading routes, charging you for every passage through their lands."

Cedric's breathing almost died out as the image unraveled before his eyes. Pentos was at the crossroads among the three realms: the North, the East and the tribes. He looked at Jorah with the eyes of a man who began to understand, and the more his vision cleared, the more his worry increased.

"Drogo would consider that a prize worth fighting for." His voice was unrecognizable but as he was caught up in his thoughts, Cedric didn't realize that even the strength to speak was leaving his weary body.

"Yes he would." Jorah came before Cedric and the two men shared a silent moment looking in each other's eyes. "You see now why the Targaryens need her?"

"What about us?" Ortezza interrupted them demandingly. Cedric's eyes fell back on Jorah waiting to hear his answer.

"You can be with her or against her. If she gets the throne she will be able to offer you safe passage and a home inside the borders of the kingdom. And you can fight at her side against Drogo when the time comes."

"You speak as if you know this will happen for certain."

Jorah smiled mildly, placing both hands on the Cedric's shoulder. His weight made the lieutenant stand stronger, but his body shook with the effort.

"You've lived long enough and understand your place into this world in a way not many can. You know that what I say will happen. The Wolofs have been trying to unite the tribes for a long time now. They will use this new offense to convince Drogo that the tribes are decaying, that they need one ruler so that such deceits as the one Leora put them through, don not repeat again."

Cedric chuckled, annoyed yet amused by the truth in the noble's words. But his smiled soon disappeared and his eyes fell to the ground, inspecting the stone floor in silence.

"Whisper to the dying you say?" It took Jorah a moment to understand, then smiled and nodded. Cedric confronted him one more time.

"Dying men don't hear you and if they do, they are caught so tightly in the claws of death that they won't respond lucidly. I know this is not what Leora needs to hear and she will be deaf to my plea." Jorah paused to breathe but their eyes remained connected powerfully. "I need you to make her hear. I need you to bring the dying back to life."

**WWWWWWWW**

**Hey guys, good to be back. Frankly, I am building this story as I go. I have seen Game of Thrones, the TV series, enough as to realize what is what and I have definitely fallen for Khal. But as usual, I like to create my own characters, develop my own language and environment so in a way I am glad I am not too familiar with the series as to be influenced too much, because the idea is not to copy, but to be creative. So, I hope you enjoy the story so far. I don't plan on making it too long, but then again that's what I said with Death is just another beginning Let me know what you think, you know your reviews are always much appreciated! **


	5. Chap 4  The Moles Crawling Under

**The Moles Crawling Under**

"We shouldn't have met here!" Lord Esther pushed the chair away, pacing back and forth along the walls. He stopped before the window looking out. People hurried to their homes, carrying heavy baskets with food and grains, yelling at the animals to move faster, cursing at each other for not having enough room to pass by. A child looked up and his small brown eyes met the noble's angry look. His dirty little face remained frozen, his soft lips quivered; a man passed by in a hurry and hit him sending him on his knees. He got up and dusted off his poor clothes then looked up again asking for mercy from the man standing at the window above. Suddenly, a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and a motherly harsh voice hurried him out of the way. But the child had grown roots staring at the pale face and those annoyed eyes urging him away from the window. Esther wasn't feeling any mercy; he wasn't feeling anything but angst and uncertainty. He turned away, leaving the boy in the market square and a moment later the little man was gone, lost in the crowd.

Esther came before the fireplace and sat down watching the fire burn. Then suddenly he got up turning towards Sir Lorday who was carefully inspecting the armors displayed at the door.

"Lorday!"

"Your place is as good as any!" The little man of a thousand faces continued observing the details in the incrusted sword handle, touching softly the shiny metal.

"Then why didn't we do it at your place?" Lorday finally seemed to pay attention when he turned to look at his host, with a candid devilish smile.

"Because I am married to a woman who has poisoned the house with her scouts, lovers and whores that listen to everything I say." His smiled broadened but so did the shadow of regret in his eyes. "Nothing escapes her."

"I thought you found such qualities useful!"

"I do, very much so, but not in my own home."

"Birds of the same feather flock together Lorday!" Esther glimpsed back at his guest while pouring wine. Lorday looked at him carefully and a spark of anger flared quickly across his eyes. His reputation together with the history of his family had brought him a great deal of money and a great deal of enemies. His wife was just a piece of this venomous puzzle, a tool, a whore of blue blood, with a big mouth, sharp fangs and hawk eyes. The image of her naked back moist with sweat under his crude thrusts gave him a hard on so he turned away from Esther with a perverted grin on his face. This was the game he played and he liked to play so he had to live with the consequences. _Live and risk it all then die with no regrets, don't live to live to then die still looking back thinking what if…_ His father's words were sculpted deep in his mind, so deeply rooted that no danger, no threat could brake that marble plate his rich parent had bolted in his consciousness. But at times it was tiring.

"He should be here any minute." Lorday poured some wine as well sitting in front of his old friend. If his lips didn't smile, his eyes did – an old friend… Esther was never his friend; he was an interested party, a man who was too old and too fearful to make it alone on the political scene of the Targaryens. Viserys did not enjoy his presence too much; he thought his advices were old-fashioned, too cautious and austere. But he knew Esther's words were wise and that he should be kept around to maintain the balance. There was too much foolish bravery, anger and haste in Viserys Targaryen's actions for him to last on the throne for too long, but the young imprudent Prince only listened to those who'd speak what he liked to hear. And it led him to his death. But he wouldn't do the same mistake. He took another look from above the edge of the cup – Esther looked restless and tense, waiting for the inevitable of their plan to take place. Once that man stepped inside the room, there was no turning back. His eyelids trembled slightly as he closed his eyes admitting to the truth; there had been no going back since the moment Lorday had called upon him.

"I never understood how you knew of this man!" Esther's breathing seemed to be congested. His eyes pierced into the fire, blankly. His long grey eyebrows shadowed the vigilant yet tired sight of this old man, hiding the deep wrinkles folding on top of the eyelids. Long ago his eyes had been of an intense blue, now they had lost that power; big thick dots spread across the irises showing signs of a severe cataract, taking away the glow of those eyes that once had been happy.

Esther rummaged through the burning ashes and the tongues of fire reached out for him with a vengeance, the same way they did the night his wife and child perished inside their home, choked by the poisonous fumes of the burning wood. His only love and his only heir. Lorday emptied his cup watching Esther get lost in memories while trying to revive the fire. He knew of the man's story and it wasn't pretty, but memories had to be left in the past so that new memories could replace the painful ones in the future. And that night could very well be a stone mark for both their futures.

The door opened wide and Lorday looked back immediately, almost startled. A tall lean figure dressed in black sat in the shadows, waiting.

"Kanza…" Sir Lorday stepped towards the new arrival signaling him to come forth. At the sound of that name Esther also turned around, but slowly, still thinking of the consequences of this meeting, consequences that echo through the ages.

The man stepped closer and pushed aside the cloak revealing a skinny sunburnt face, spotted with freckles. The dark eyes were sunk in the eye sockets, so deep it looked like his head was nothing more than a skull wrapped in skin. Esther got up moving slowly around the room blowing out a few candles. He felt too exposed in the light with this strange man in his house. He felt the cold sweat come down his spine and he itched to get away faster from this stiff situation. He finally rested, facing the man from up close to make sure he could read his words in the depth of those black eyes. He needed, he must know whether this man was telling the truth.

"Have you been followed?" The man shook his head slowly, staring at Esther. Lorday spoke again, this time trying to attract his attention to him. "Have you covered your tracks? Does Jorah know you left the village?"

"I am not that popular…. Jorah Mormont arrived as I was leaving. I saw him passing through the gates and talking to the soldiers. I went by unnoticed. They were too preoccupied to greet him." Esther was surprised to hear such a hoarse low voice coming from a walking sack of bones like Kanza, but he continued watching him with renewed interest.

"What did he want?"

"He said he was there to see Lady Leora." The man's eyes switched again to Esther, staring while his lips uttered the words. "But I believe you already know that."

The voices in the market overwhelmed the silence in the room as they looked at each other, understanding the new rules of the game. Skinny, dirty, a nobody – but Kanza was a sneaky villain, a beggar for information, a slave in the service of money and that made him more dangerous than half of the Targaryen court and Lorday knew it all too well. So he reached for his belt and pulled a small velvet sack throwing it to Kanza.

"We don't know anything. And neither will you once you step out of this room." Kanza smiled and his teeth were of an impressionable white, it made even Lorday shiver. _He looks like a rabid dog, that's what he is_… Esther's thoughts forced him a few steps back. He turned around trying to hide away the aversion he felt for this man, but his gestures betrayed his anxiety. He sat down, curling the long ends of his grey thin moustache waiting for Lorday to take the reins of the conversation and find out what they had come there for. But Kanza looked at the money, flipping the sack up and down for a few moments, weighing the gold. Suddenly his hand froze and his eyes penetrated into Lorday's small inquisitive mistrusting eyes. But two foxes don't outsmart each other; they just wait for the other one to break first.

"As you know the Wolofs have been trying for a while to break the Tekaras and take their lands. They know the Tekaras are friends with you."

"Yes."

"The Wolofs attacked again last night. A whole month of battling; but it was all over last night."

"Well, if Jorah got in the village then the Wolofs must've… lost, as always." Lorday grinned, going to get more wine. He poured one jug.

"The Wolofs backed off only because Alchantar learnt that Leora had been fighting him all along."

"Poor bastard!" Lorday chuckled ironically pouring a second cup. "He must've been ruined in the eyes of his men to see a woman uncover herself before him on the battlefield! I would have given two sacks of gold to see his face!" He poured a third jar looking at Kanza with the same satisfaction. His hand stopped midway holding the flagon. "Or maybe not… Not two sacks of gold. That's too much even for an entertaining barbarian like Alchantar!"

"Entertaining?" Esther stopped playing with his moustache looking at Lorday not understanding his sudden good mood. The young nobleman offered him one cup and Esther took it slowly still keeping an eye on him. He went for the third jug giving it to Kanza.

"That man is the most sluggish politician and senile leader I've ever seen in my whole life! Vicerys couldn't add two and two together, but Alchantar picks all the wrong twos to add together! Impulsive, irrational, mad! And surrounded by the nastiest of friends! It's always good news to hear of his defeats; numerous defeats."

Kanza remained silent grabbing the glass of wine from Lorday's hand. He looked at the dark red liquid swirling gently in the cup but he didn't even sip on it.

"Why have you called for me?" Esther sighed, squeezing harder on the cup. He emptied half of the glass in one gulp. Lorday feared he might lose it before the end of the conversation.

"Tonight might be Alchantar's lucky night, my friend." Kanza's eyes went small, almost like a thin line as he focused harder on the short man dressed up in purple velvet, adorned with golden trestles, looking like trees in winter: beautified with more than their branches could take. He wished he could smile but the promise of money did not allow him to make any such mistakes. "You said Leora is badly injured. How badly?"

"She hasn't been seen all night. Ortezza brought her back inside, she couldn't walk. They say it will take weeks before she recovers."

"But you haven't seen her yourself?"

"No." Lorday looked intrigued for a moment. Then he puffed satisfied; of course a coward like Kanza would never put himself in danger's way to be spotted and uncovered. He was a mole, digging in the dark, under people's feet and city walls, finding all the dirty secrets to then sell them to the highest bidder. Lorday came before Kanza, but his small stature didn't help much with impressing the digger.

"What I am going to tell you now is worth more gold than you've made in your entire miserable life!" He looked back at Esther and saw him emptying his cup with a fearful expression carved in his old pale face. But he couldn't enjoy the wine now; he felt the adrenaline rush through his veins. The game was on and by the Mighty Powers did he enjoy that stream in his body, urging him to take the challenge and win. His eyes turned back to Kanza who had remained just as motionless and unimpressed. In his years as an informant he had heard many boast about their valuable information, but very few had something to say that was really valuable. So he waited and hoped this was not one of the grandiose dispositions of yet another noble infatuated with his own power. "Leora Stekara is not the daughter of Captain Dascara."

Kanza's eyes sparked for a fraction of a second as the words came out of Lorday's mouth, to then die out just as fast crushed under the disappointment of such useless information. But Lorday knew better.

"She is the bastard child of Aerys II, the Mad King of the Eastern Kingdom, half sister to Vicerys and Daenerys and potential heir to the Throne of Westeros." And for the first time since he'd stepped into the room Kanza's jaw relaxed, slightly falling, his dry narrow lips parted in surprise. Lorday felt victorious; he had defeated the notorious Kanza of the Wind Tribe; he had given him something he did not have and that he craved for: information worth his weight in gold. "Now… don't say those coins I gave you are not enough, because with _this_ you'll buy a better place in hell than you could afford until now!" His offensive attitude brought Kanza back to his immune state; he got the hint and he learnt his place. But it didn't matter anymore, now that he had dug up this pot of wealth and limitless possibilities of enrichment. His mind already scattered across the land looking for buyers of such a precious jewel. "Don't – even – think – about it!" Lorday's voice cut his thoughts short. "This information is for the ears of one man and one man alone and if you disobey this in as much as to hint at what you know, I shall find you and you shall suffer the most brutal, painful, agonizing death there is! And I know death for I've delivered many to her!" _Such a sharp tongue for someone with a pecker smaller than my middle finger!_ Kanza grinned and behind Lorday, Esther went to fill his cup again. He was already drunk and had done nothing but observe the secret of their kingdom be sold to a gold-digger who would probably sell it and them to the first enemy he found available.

"And who is that man?"

"You should pay _me_ to tell you that!" Lorday exaggerated in his infatuation but as long as it satisfied his ego, it worked for him. "You will go to Karok and meet with Alchantar Wolof and tell him what I have just told you. Also deliver this letter to him and say that we will only call upon him once and so he better seize the opportunity!" Kanza took the letter slowly, reading the insignia marked in the red wax sealing the envelope. He looked at Lorday in disbelief and the Targaryen nobleman grinned flattered. "Yes… my seal. But it will not give me away for you will not show this letter to anyone other than Alchantar himself!" Kanza became even more suspicious, thinking there was more to this story than these two Targaryens were telling him.

"What if he is not there?"

"Then find him! Do not speak to anyone, do not show the letter to anyone!"

"This will cost you more!"

"More? I can have you killed right now and have one of my men deliver the letter!"

"Then why don't you do it?" Kanza's calmness irritated the very sense out of him and Lorday came closer piercing in his eyes.

"Because I wish to keep my men alive and sacrifice an innocent like you! Open that letter and you will bring death on yourself without my help!"

Kanza weighed his words, and then carefully put the letter away in between the folds of his large black cloak. His hand reached forth asking for his pay, but Lorday sniffed at the man like a dog tracing the scent of a rival and dismissed the informant in defiance. Esther got up at once and put a new bag of coins in Kanza's hand, but when he tried to pull away the old man stopped him abruptly, and against his feeble looks, his grip was strong.

"Do not deceive us, do not stray from our word and do not linger when you're done with the job! Do not think you're safe. If we fall, you fall; take it from a man who has nothing left to loose." Kanza's eyes rippled like the deep waters of a pond. Even if he had been by the fire all this time, Esther's hand on his was cold; it felt like the touch of death and somehow, none of Lorday's threats had such an impact as the words of this senior noble. Kanza pulled his hand close to the chest, massaging it vigorously as if he wanted to clean off that biting sensation. His fingers closed around the money bag as he took one last look in Esther's eyes. The armors at the door cast ghostly shadows on the walls, dancing in the fire light. Kanza bowed, slowly and calculated, as if he feared the reach of the shadows behind him. Esther kept his eyes on the door until it closed behind the informant then slowly turned towards Lorday and for the first time the young man looked tense and agitated.

"What did you say in that letter?" Esther's words were rough, low and barely breathed out, but he kept his speech steady.

"I told you not to worry about it. It will benefit us!"

"Lorday! What did you say?" But Lorday didn't answer, pouring one last cup of wine. "Did you ask Alchantar to… kill Leora?"

"So I did. And Jorah, while he's at it. Bottoms up!" With an unconvincing victorious grin he gulped all the wine as if it were water, put the jar down annoyed with the realization of his deed, then stepped hard outside the room. Esther fell into his chair, eyes in tears, staring at the flames.

**W w w w w w w w w w w w w**

The Dothraki Sea, calm and peaceful; it had borrowed the color of the rocky shores containing it. The sun was trying to bathe in its immensity, but the waves swallowed it entirely, transforming the fiery ball into melting skies of bloody red and traces of purple. Khal Drogo watched the spectacle of his ancestors, silent and obedient to the signs nature was giving him. Somewhere, blood was shed and the sun and the sea were stained with it. His eyelids came down slowly, heavy with too much trouble and too little sleep. The dark shades of charcoal dust on his eyelids mingled with the sweat creasing his thick eyebrows, hiding the scar tracing on his left eye from the eyebrow down to the plump cheek bone. His green eyes scrutinized the horizon with the same sultry regard as they always did, weather they looked upon enemies or friends, burning everything in their way. But tonight he was burning inside. News of the battles in the East had stirred his solitude and he knew soon he would be called upon by the tribe leaders to decide war and peace. The Fire Tribe was causing trouble again with their unquenched thirst for more. _Should I..?_ He was tired of it; he couldn't decide for the world anymore. His wealth, his military strength had gained him a fierce reputation. But he was of the Water people and he honored his code, his forefathers and he would not fall into the temptation of war, unless he gained a greater good for his people. _A greater good to follow a greater evil and the death of many… _Thoughtsmingled in his mind and his head felt heavy like a rock; he let his chin drop slowly to his chest, stretching the tense thick muscles from the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and his broad shoulders came up and extended in an effort to loosen up that pain in the shoulder blades that had been bothering him for a while. A crack in the bones made him quiver and he pressed his palm against the shoulder. He remembered that rock all too well and how he landed against it with the force of a tempest. _But at least I'm still breathing…_ He smiled sinuously, thinking of the man's tongue in his bloody hand after he was done with him. _A worthy opponent, nevertheless..._ He pulled his long tail from the back and caressed slowly the tiny bells braided in the thick chestnut locks. They clinked timidly under his strong touch and his eyes fired with the sound. The sound that made him the leader, for no one would wear the bells of victory unless they were worth the honor. And he had never lost a fight in his life. He pushed the hair back and the coarse braid settled gently along his thigh.

"My Khalasar, Alchantar Wolof is here to see you." _Already?_ It was too soon for such tribulation to begin, but Alchantar Wolof never wasted any time. Khal looked at Quaro intensely, not knowing what to make of this unexpected nuisance. He leaned forward placing his large hand against the tall columns of the veranda, thinking whether he should please Alchantar or throw him into the sea. No one bothered the Khalasar this way and no one dared ask anything of the Dothraki chieftain without prior announcement.

"Khalasar?... Should I tell him to leave?"

"And steal the pleasure of killing him myself?" His voice was rigid but Quaro knew he had won Alchantar's life for him. He bowed and remained so until Khal decided to look at him. He took a deep breath and waved the man away. Quaro left without a word and as he stepped out of the bedroom, he hurried Innowa inside. The girl moved quickly, bringing his skins, wrapping them carefully around the Khalasar's waist. She closed meticulously all the metal buckles to the large leather belt he wore tightly against his flat abdomen, until his appearance was perfect. Khal ran his fingers on top of the leather sculpture, the drawings and the scars imprinted on it by the many enemies he'd fought. He'd stop wearing that belt only if he were dead and they'd tear it away from his corpse. Innowa flew across the room to bring his dagger, kneeled at his feet, head down, waiting for him to take it from her shaky hands. Khal tucked the weapon slowly and considerate until only the golden handle stood out from the folds of the brownish skins covering his thighs. He left, leaving Innowa still kneeling. As he walked through the door, he turned around and addressed her in a commanding voice.  
>"Stay here. This will not take long." Innowa didn't look at him and didn't speak. As soon as the air came in brushing her skin from the door closing, she untied the straps holding her dress together, letting it fall to the ground.<p>

**W w w w w w w w w w w w w**

Alchantar paced through the luxurious hall in the Vaes Dothrak mansion waiting for the Khalasar to make his entrance. He knew he had pushed his luck too far, but he hoped he'd have the time to speak before Khal Drogo would tear his beating heart out his chest. And indeed, the Dothraki leader came and he looked just as menacing and imposing as he remembered him. Khal took his time, measuring his steps as he drew nearer his potential prey. Alchantar looked like a bundle of trembling flesh under too many layers of clothes. He stood up right, chin up, a bit shaky from the joints, his temples sweating under the heaviness of his decision to come here. Khal smiled and those sensual full lips would have impressed even the most virtuous women in the court of the Targaryens. He kept the smile on as he tilted his head slowly to the right, inspecting the man before him. _Why wouldn't he sit down?_ Alchantar swallowed in dryly, trying to reply with the same smile but it looked more like the grin of a foolish man ready to burst under the pressure. Few men could shadow Khal Drogo in height and not many could stand up to his attitude or courage. The man had the power to hypnotize you with that green eerie gaze, stained with small dots of chocolate brown, melting into a formidable glance that had spread fear in many courageous hearts and passion into many lusty wombs. The Wolof leader made his best to stand his ground as the Khalasar paced slowly around him. He could feel his breath on the back of his neck and the urge to speak became greater. But he choked on his words when Khal stopped a step away leaving him to stare at his broad tanned chest painted in blue stripes. Alchantar followed cautiously the line of the drawings up to Khal's shoulder and couldn't help thinking they looked like fierce claw marks hanging from the man's flesh. And then the scars; white thin lines, or deep jagged marks, punctured skin from the thread that once held it together to keep the blood from gushing out. Alchantar's lips narrowed in disgust as his mind created that fictitious pain he never really endured.

"Speak, Wolof." The hoarse deep voice of the Khalasar came down raining on him and he startled pulling back suddenly.

"Khalasar, I did not wish to offend you with my presence!..." He bowed, a little; he was too proud to bow more. _You rat!_ Khal licked the back of his teeth with a quick swish of his tongue, gathering the sweet taste of grapes that lingered in his mouth. He turned his back to the visitor walking up the few stairs that led to his throne. He sat down, gently, as he always did, enjoying his position and the view. He let his body fall neglectfully on the side, supporting his weight on the elbow. His long drooping moustache, knotted with tiny golden pins holding it in a graceful braid, tickled the back of his wrist as he sank his chin lazily in his palm, waiting for Alchantar to speak. He was not known for his tolerance and now, with a woman waiting in his bed, his patience grew even thinner.

"I have dared cross your threshold, Khalasar, with urgent… and most beneficial news." His eyes may have been pointing at the floor, but his voice was calling to him, and Khal signaled the Wolof to come closer and look at him. The guards at the doors stepped closer, holding tight to their weapons and Khal allowed them to approach him as well. Alchantar glimpsed behind him at the menacing men and his newly found courage paled once more.

"You are wasting my time already, so say fast what you must say, for I am in no mood for… beneficial news." _Argh!_ Alchantar stepped closer and the fear of failing with this assignment made him forget about the spears pointing at his back.

"As you know I have been in war with the Kentaras for a long time now."

"You and your father, and your father's father. I begin to think you have nothing better to do."

"Their lands are rich and great, as are their stubbornness and insubordination."

"Insubordination to whom? You?" He sounded bored and uninterested, barely letting the words out as his jaw flexed but a bit in the cup of his palm.

"Khalasar –"

But Khal got up slowly which meant the conversation was over.

"Khalasar wait!"

"You are overstaying your welcome Wolof! I am not interested in your quarrels with the Tekaras. We must all do with what we have been given by the Mighty Powers."

"My lands are scorched, no water and no crops, nothing but rocks and pebbles. The desert mountains of the Tse'khene do not offer much to my people!"

"Then trade like all of us, or do you think my people only feed on fish! There is nothing growing on these rocks either!"

"You very well know how expensive trading has become lately with the Targaryens charging us every time we pass through their lands." His voice died out purposefully, letting Khal know he had reached the point where he wanted to be with their conversation.

"What are you saying Wolof? That the Ketaras are not enough for you anymore? Now you must have the Westeros Throne? You are trying to chew more than you can swallow barbarian. Know your place in the world and you will live longer!" Khal turned around ready to push the door open and leave the room when Alchantar made one last desperate attempt to make him stay.

"I beg you to listen! The East is growing weaker as we speak, Viserys is dead and Daenerys is in no condition to rule. Greater dangers may arise from the North, with the Stark House fighting for supremacy. What could stop their war from spilling into our lands? The Eastern Kingdom is the only defense we have against it and it is crumbling. Khalasar, do hear me! We need a leader!"

Khal's head dropped heavily between his shoulders as he still pressed against the doors trying to escape. The pulsation in his groin burnt his thoughts to ashes and as his shaft rubbed against the rough skins, he lost his obedience to reason and common sense. But the warrior inside couldn't resist the call of a good challenge and in the back of his mind he knew Alchantar was on to something, something that he was hiding, and that something challenged him. He let go and turned around to face the Wolof, making an effort to keep calm.

"Wind, Fire, Water, Earth. The tribes have never been united and will never unite. Not under one rule. The Mighty Powers have divided these forces and placed them in our care, for us to shelter them the best we can, even if we must struggle. Too long have we been living this way to change the course of things now. If you want the Westeros throne you have to take it yourself. Alone."

"I cannot do it alone, my Khalasar." Khal grinned knowing the games of the fire people and surely enough Alchantar was bearing that name proudly for he burnt inside with revenge and greed and would burn in the depths of hell once his life would be over on this earth.

"I know you cannot."

"Your strength in arms is undeniable; there wouldn't even be a war, but a mere confrontation. They cannot stand against forty thousand of your men! Together with my people we shall free our world of their rules and constraints and have better access to the riches beyond the mountains."

"Those riches are not for free Alchantar!"

"But the ones in Pentos are, my Khalasar, if you just reach for them."

"Why do you call me your Khalasar?" Khal brushed his beard slowly, playing with the small pins making the Wolof leader diminish under his stare. "You think slobbering like this around my feet will get you where you want?" The attack had his desired impact and the fire inside Alchantar burst disabling his self control. His eyes flamed with the mockery but amazingly so, he backed up quickly, hiding the flares under the mask of a humble look. There was too much at stake to make a scene now and send everything to ruin.

"You would have me at your service, if you helped my people with this matter."

"Your services are useless to me. But the services of your people… I might accommodate that." Alchantar weighed the Khalasar's words for a moment and he agreed with a bow, but behind the sneaky eyes, deceit lingered in his mind. He didn't know how but he would succeed in keeping his freedom from Drogo once he had what he wanted of him. Khal watched him bow and felt as if he were looking down on a mole, crushed under his own labyrinth of lies, not being able to look at the light because he would be blinded by the truth. And blind he would be if he ever thought of crossing his word!

"I will not attempt to stir the fury of Ancient Waters for the sake of your ill-intended unity. But if indeed the Eastern Kingdom can no longer protect us from the Dark magic of the North, then I will consider your plea. Leave now and do not come back. I will send word to you of my decision."

"Khalasar…" Khal bit a little too hard, letting his teeth grind as he released the air through his nostrils. He turned around one last time to look at the Wolof.

"Alchantar! I will not be part of your revenge against the Tekaras. That war is yours to end." And he stopped waiting for a reply, but Alchantar hesitated, still looking for a way to make him change his mind. But there was none.

"Yes, my Khalasar…"

The doors closed behind Khal, but his smile only disappeared when he entered his bedroom and saw Innowa lying naked on the animal skins.

**W w w w w w w w w w w w w**

The moon shone so bright it hurt his eyes. Lorday felt guilty to the light, as if it exposed the filth inside his heart. He closed the door behind him and threw his sandals away, walking slowly, with measured steps as he unbuckled the leather belt from his waist. The heavy purple velvet clothes followed and when he arrived upstairs in his bedroom, his tunic was the only thing left on him, large, woven unevenly, but comfortable to the skin. His wife, Verna, was in bed, asleep. But Lorday knew she wasn't the kind to fall asleep before the moon was high into the sky. As he sat motionless in the middle of the room he felt his chest pulsate with a rhythmic pounding that almost made his body vibrate. The thrill of his earlier encounter with Kanza had not gone away. His eyes lay on the whiteness of his wife's skin, revealed from underneath the covers. She didn't want him. She was disgusted with his touch – the man who barely reached her ear in height, with an ego twice as big and a cruelty unmatched by either his pride or his height. She had married him for stature, but so he had married her for money – a union out of love. They were an odd couple, turning heads as they walked through the streets, her taller, him shorter. _But I took care of that!_ He grinned remembering the hands he'd cut off and the eyes he'd punched out of the peasants staring. Marriage and name had given him that power, but it didn't bring him the satisfaction every man craved to have. He moved to the window looking above Pentos, at the torches lit in the night, at the roof tops, listening to the silence. But he remained in the shadows. He had it all, and he could have more and he would have more, yet here he was, hiding from the moon light.

He let the tunic fall to his feet and with small steps he reached into that gripping light, naked and daring. His muscles contracted as if he were uncovered before the eyes of a crowd, but soon the power of the moon flooded him. It tore through him, breaking all the barriers of his shyness and raised that inner revolt that had kept him going for so long. Behind him Verna opened her eyes looking at the dark shape of her husband against the moon light. He moved and she closed her eyes immediately, freezing on spot. The covers flew off her and she felt dragged down by her feet. She screamed when Lorday flipped her around on her belly, tearing the night gown up to her thighs. He grabbed on her legs and brought her down on her knees, pushing her face down into the mattress, while keeping a firm grip on the back of her neck.

"Narcil! Don't… Narcil!" But Narcil Lorday did not care. He scrambled to look between his legs and find his manhood to shove it inside her and even in his hand it felt little to go on with. Rage took his mind remembering the stories she had said about him. His hold on her neck grew stronger as small pools of sweat gathered in the hollows of her spine and he dug inside her, with all his might, knowing he didn't get it in as deep as he wanted to go, but he was going to give her pleasure! Pleasure beyond her expectations, pleasure that she will barely remember! The pleasure of still living after having sex with him. Verna choked in the sheets, fighting to push away enough to breathe, but driven by lust, Lorday was an incredibly powerful man. Or maybe it was his rage driving him to the edge. She coughed, her hands hit the bed relentlessly and she finally managed to stir her head to the side and gasped for air. Lorday kicked her legs further apart and her knees bruised with the rough mortar in the floor. She fell lower on the side of the bed with him hitting harder inside her womb, the noise of her panting and growling being covered only by the slapping of their skins; and she cried. Her red face had swollen, her eyes looked as if they were about to come out of the sockets, but he never released her. Feeling his end near he pushed her buttocks apart to open her core even more to him, her core he knew fitted another size than his and he ground his teeth with the urge of proving her wrong. His hand dropped from her neck down her back and under her body groping her large breasts, pulling hard on them and as he molded them harshly he sank his teeth in her shoulder making her arch to him. _It's so easy to make you want me, you whore!_ He straddled her with a vengeance until his venom poured out of him and all over her core and kept rubbing himself against her to keep that electric current burn the last trace of hatred consuming him still. He took her torn dress and cleaned himself, then threw it back at her with a slap on her behind and moved out of the room to look for wine. Verna managed to raise her head enough from the bed as to see him leave. Tears flooded her face so much she couldn't see through and her throat ached with choking. She had been sentenced to marrying him by her parents, a worthy match they said, in their haste to have his name and his quest to gain their money. Her eyes unveiled a clear image from behind the flow of tears. _I know of that letter! I know what you want, you dickless wonder!_ Her head fell down on the pillows, her eyes closed to deal with the pain._ I will see you hanged and it will be from my doing and by my hand, you filthy rascal!_


	6. Chap 5  Nersin

**Nersin**

All that clatter bothered him, his focus, his patience, and his irritation only grew bigger as he stood there trying to ignore the drunkards passing before his table. From the shadow where he lay hidden in a corner, his black eyes observed quietly how they dangled hanging from one another, spilling the ale and sometimes, to make matters worse, even collapsing on his table with a stupid grin on their ugly faces. For the past hour he had been there, and for the past hour he had saved the candle from falling to the ground - one time too many now. He looked away making efforts to leave the sickening image of smudged cheeks and infested teeth somewhere far from his mind. He had to think about his next step. _Master isn't here…_ the words echoed in his head; he filled his lungs with the warm and sticky air of the old tavern. If Karok was known for something, that was its taverns and whore houses. Alchantar had traded honor for money and theft was a manner of living here, from petty larceny to stealing people's freedom in exchange for false promises and an easy life. Or so they thought; Alchantar was a selfish man ruling over a cohort of hungry barbarians, and he liked it that way. If one set foot in Karok, then he better keep his mouth shut and money in the pocket, for this was the end of the world as many knew it. Rules that applied outside the Wolofs' border, were not known here, let alone respected.

A bibber took his time to control his shaky hands and put the ale mug on the table, but his alcohol soaked eyes didn't help and he almost dropped it. The golden liquid filled out the cracks in the wood as it spread towards the candle. The tosspot swore like a hackney coachman trying to save whatever he could of the ale cupping his filthy hands under the edge of the table. Kanza's muscle flickered in his jaw and a deep throat growl surfaced just enough to force that gesture upon the choleric man before him. His foot pressed against the leg of the table tilting it to the side. The liquid drained between the boards until there was nothing left but the wet wood and the syrupy smell of the beer. A pair of coagulated yellowish eyes stared from behind the table as he released the pressure and the table went back the way it was. The drunkard looked at him with an infectious look of anger and dismay, but walked away without a word. The tavern was full of rumors and assumptions as to who the black shadow was sitting in a corner for so long saying nothing, doing nothing.

From behind the shelves, a pair of green eyes glimpsed at the stranger in the corner. Her small hands swirled around the fragile mugs so fast; she wasn't even thinking at what she was doing, the stranger captivated her with his secrecy. There were no secrets in the Tavern of Light. Karok was the town of shadows, where everyone hid their past and doings but it was a pretense of truth, for they were all exposed. Gossip ran the town and places such as this, were a wasp nest, droning with the suspicions and fears of many. She hit the tap on the ale barrel and watched the mug fill all the way up until the foam spilt over. Someone pulled on her dress and she turned around nervously to dismiss the loafer doing that, but her eyes warmed up with a soft glow when seeing her brother Dene holding tight to the folds of her skirt.

"Dene, you shouldn't be here! I told you to not leave the house!" she was whispering and she sounded worried.

"I am bored!" he pouted showing off that small mouth of his with a broken lower lip but regardless of his cuteness she was not convinced.

"What if father sees you here? You know what will happen!"

"But Nersin!..." he clenched both his fists in her dress, turning her worry into a mild panic attack.

"Nothing! You're a big boy now Dene, find something to do at home and stay out of the trouble so I can stay out of trouble!" she blinked fast a couple of times, feeling guilty with being so careless to her brother's needs. He was a child after all and needed more attention but she couldn't be his mother and her father's slave at the same time. "Please do as I say, will you?" she held his chin up smiling and Dene let go taking a shy step back.

"Is he going to make you stay tonight as well?" he didn't look her in the eyes and she knew why. She was aware that he knew of what her father put her up to. She grabbed the mug turning his back on him.

"Just go home Dene. I will come when I am done." But Dene looked at her frowning, upset with his loneliness and with her unhappiness. "Please?..." His little face went dark for a moment but he nodded in submission, then turned around and left. Nersin swallowed in slowly and inhaled hard all the air she could fit in her lungs to then let go of it just as abruptly. Her fingers squeezed unknowingly on the mug; she looked at the crowed cheering, laughing; she felt the stench, for it was stench to her. The filth of men wanting to touch her, grab her, have her. Her leg muscles twitched, squeezing to pull closer together and it almost made her vomit, realizing her mind was locking her core away from the possible invasion of those bastards. The assault of her father's last client on her a few weeks before, still burnt vividly in her mind, scorching through the long hours of the night.

"Are you going to stand there for eternity?" His hoarse voice tore even harder through her. She looked at her father and somehow the distance in between them suddenly grew smaller and his eyes pierced right into her skull. She feared them; she feared his heavy hand on her back, his black fingernails buried in her hair. She sprang like an arrow darting straight for the stranger in the corner. As she approached his table she calmed her quick step, pausing to catch her breath and compose her figure. Her imagination ran wild and she wanted to learn more of this tall dark skin dark eyes man. His black eyes glowed in the candle light observing her every move as she pushed the mug before him. _Dark heart…_ her eyes bowed immediately to hide her improper thoughts about this man she knew nothing about. She wanted to ask him, but words got stuck in her throat with him staring at her like that. She swallowed in again and took a step to the side, straightening her back.

Kanza looked at her milky skin as she bent forward to give him the beer; he couldn't help noticing the thin layer of sweat covering her slender neck down the generous cleavage. The soft linen exposed the flesh of her breasts. The blouse was stained here and there on top of the flowery embroidery and the cut to the neck was deep enough to invite the customers to stay longer and yearn for more than ale. His eyes narrowed looking carefully at the laces knotted so tightly it almost bruised her skin in what seemed a desperate attempt to keep the indecent blouse from revealing more than it already did. His eyes met hers wondering what kind of whore tried to cover herself that way? But she stepped away from him.

"Anything else?" her voice was sweet but firm. Kanza took his time in replying; there was something about this hostess that intrigued him and he had spent enough time in women's beds to know a whore from a woman. And this one was… "I'll be on my way then. Call if you need a refill."

Nersin turned to leave when the man spoke from behind her with a voice that matched his appearance perfectly; cold and sharp.

"Sit with me." Her vital force evaporated and her knees softened to the point of failing her. _No… no…_ Her eyes met her father's and her expression made the man approach. He passed her by, pushing her out of the way with a brutality punishable by death, if it were up to her to decide the sentence. He looked at Kanza then looked at Nersin again, sitting with her back at them, then again at the black shrouded guest.

"What do you want?"

"Her. To sit with me."

"That's going to cost you more than that beer!"

Kanza moved his hand slowly, looking through the folds of his large cape, then threw three golden coins on the wet table.

"That's more than you need for her to sit with me."

"Sit with you? What do you think, I'm stupid?" But Kanza's threatening silence made the tavern owner reluctant to go on with his display of manliness. But it didn't last for long. He grabbed Nersin by the elbow pulling her back to face Kanza.

"Three more of these beauties if she sits on your lap!" Her father grinned satisfied rolling the coins in his hand and Kanza pleased him putting three more coins on the table. The man hurried to take them but a swish of a small leather whip made him retreat in pain.

"Only if she sits on my lap. Until then, bring her a beer and then leave us." Nersin's eyes moved from one man to another acknowledging her father's sudden and unexpected fear, while the stranger kept calm and calculated. She almost fell against the wooden bench when her father threw her towards Kanza, grumbling on his way to bring more ale. She sat, slowly, at a safe distance from this strange man, waiting for his next move, but Kanza did not betray his character. He looked at her so intensely she felt the need to rearrange her dress and brush her face really quickly with the back of her hand, to look in order. She wished she had let her hair down to cover her naked chest, but it was too hot in there and she worked for too long to bare such a burden all night long. With the corner of the eye she saw about eight mugs of beer piled up in a corner and she tried to remember if she had actually brought him so many. Then how could the man still stand and speak? Most of them had two pints then dropped dead under the tables. Or turned into complete and utter tramps.

"Does he own you?" Her suspicious look reassured Kanza that there was more to this woman than met the eye.

"In more ways than one." Her answer surprised him, and the ale in his blood let that emotion sieve through for her to see it. "You drank all that?" It was her turn to express her dismay and he nodded silently with a certain pride in his eyes. And to prove himself even further he took the mug on the table and drank half of it in one gulp. But Nersin remained unimpressed and Kanza read that in her attitude. He paused, looking at her measuring him and the level of beer in his mug, after which he emptied it adding one more empty vessel in the corner of the table. _He must be drunk!_

"What business brings you here…" and she struggled to find something to call him by, but he didn't look like a lord nor did he look like a peasant. He looked like someone she did not want to know.

"Kanza is the name."

"Kanza… is Karok your final destination or are you traveling to the North?" He paused considering his answer and for a moment his eyes left hers and she felt relieved from the pressure of their blackness.

"I am here on a mission. But now I must return."

"I hope you accomplished your mission, Sir Kanza, as you have planned." She smiled but wasn't so sure if it had actually surfaced on her lips.

"I have not, actually." A beer was pushed in her face spilling on her hands and blouse. She looked up at her father inspecting both of them to see if she had gotten any closer to Kanza's lap than when he had left. He growled unsatisfied then saw to his dirty business leaving her with her new acquaintance.

"Drink." Nersin looked at the beer with a sigh. She was so sick of its smell, of its color and taste that she didn't want it.

"You have it. It's on the house." Kanza looked at the tendons arching under her pale skin as her wrist twist with the weight of the mug; he enjoyed seeing the small details in people, what others disregarded; it was what made him the best at what he did – reading people to use their own emotions against them. He took the mug, curling his fingers where hers had been to feel the warmth of her touch and somehow it stirred him.

"What's your name?"

"Nersin."

"Nersin. Who is that?"

"My father." Kanza licked his lips fast and Nersin couldn't help staring; everything was black about this man, even his lips seemed darker than everyone else's.

"What about your mother? Is she as beautiful as you are?" She didn't expect a compliment from him; en a cheap one. It sounded more like the hissing of a snake and she felt the cold touch of sweat beads coming down her spine. She grabbed a few strands of loose hair and tried to tuck them into the messy hair bun she had hurriedly put together before opening the tavern.

"She's dead." She looked away. "What happened to your mission?" Normally her invasive question would have not crossed over his defenses, but not even the greatest sleek of them all could fight the sweet nausea of alcohol and his mind translated the question into what his ego wanted to feel.

"It's an important mission, but I did not find who I was looking for."

"No one can hide in Karok, so whomever you are seeking, you will find."

"The man I seek does not hide." He paused struck by a reminiscence of his usual preservation instinct, but her green eyes and those rosy plump lips helped the vapors of the ale choke the prudence in him. "Alchantar Wolof." He didn't even whisper it and he grinned satisfied with finally seeing the signs of discomfort and surprise on her face when hearing the name of her leader. Nersin looked over her shoulder to see whether anyone had heard him but they were too busy being idiots to pay attention to such information.

"Alchantar Wolof? But he's –"

"Not here!" Kanza took her mug and emptied half way down looking angry and disappointed. "I bring him a message of utter importance and he is not here." Nersin took a moment to think whether she should trade any information with the stranger, but decided to do so and see what else she could get from him. People paid good money for reliable information and she had learnt that early in her nineteen years of life.

"He has gone to meet with the Dothraki, or so I've heard." Kanza's mind focused through the mists of his drunkenness.

"How would you know that?" his voice was growing weaker and unsteady and Nersin recognized this sickness in men all too well.

"Places like this, is where some decide who lives and dies in these lands. One has to just drop an ear into a conversation from behind piles of empty cups and finds more than you would ever imagine." She spoke so secretively that Kanza got caught in it.

"Why did he go to seek the Dothraki? What does he want with them? Do you know?" But she shook her head. "When did he leave?"

"I heard a garrison soldier talk about it a few days ago, so he must have got pretty far by now."

Kanza fell back into his chair, grumpy and dark and Nersin looked at him with interest for it was the first time when he actually displayed a real emotion.

"I should've spoken with him before he left."

"Is it that urgent?" But Kanza was not drunk enough to reveal the content of his message.

"Are you going to buy her drinks all night long or fuck her, because I have customers waiting!" her father's rude interruption ruined her plans for the moment, but she didn't want to give in.

"He wants more beer!" she stood up abruptly and ran to get more ale while her father remained behind looking confused. Kanza pushed the three coins to him, adding two more with a drunken grin.

"Don't worry about her tonight. And don't bother me again." Nersin's father flashed him for a moment than inspected the money with a greedy eye. He took it and left, leaving his daughter to the mercy of a stranger.

"Here!" Nersin put the mug before Kanza.

"Your father will not bother us tonight, anymore!" He stretched his bony hand towards her, caressing her cheek with the back of his palm and Nersin quivered inside violently. She hoped the tobacco ashes she had slipped in his ale would make him loose his senses faster. She forced a smile; after a few beers men did not care about subtleties, smiles or caresses. They wanted to grab, bite and posses.

"You can still follow Lord Alchantar and speak with him if you must." But Kanza wasn't interested in answering. He got up slowly and took her hand making her follow him. She resented where he was taking her and it hurt again, deep in her womb, knowing what was coming. Tears burdened her eyelids but she kept it together.

"Wait!" she smiled and Kanza grinned seeing those emeralds shining brightly in the candle light; in his dizziness he mistook her tears for excitement and pulled her closer to sniff on her neck. She jerked away and he strengthened his hold on her. "The beer… It would be a pity to give it away like that…" She smiled and stretched for the precious mug. Kanza gave her enough rope to get the drink for him than went back on his way to the bedrooms upstairs. Nersin kept the mug steady struggling to untangle her feet from the heavy long dress as she went up the stairs, dragged behind him.

The door closed with a sound loud enough for her heart to startle and she remained motionless, waiting for him. Her fingers clenched so hard on the mug she was afraid it was going to break, but she had nothing else to hang on to; even her courage was failing her now. Kanza threw away his black cape and tunic. Nersin shivered backing up into the door as he came near her; his silhouette against the moon light forced her heart into her throat and she choked on the powerful beat. She believed he was one of the Dakelhs, the Wind people, renowned for their slickness and astuteness. The snakes of the tribe realm; curling around your feet, dragging around the bodies of their victims, making a living as paid assassins and informants. No one was safe around them. She had seen very few in her young years, but it was enough to remember. She felt the urge to put her hand against the neck to keep the panic at bay, but reason got the best of her in the nick of time. She pushed the ale to him, hoping he'd take it, but he wasn't interested. He set it on the table, along with his dagger, two sacks of money and a letter. Her eyes fell on the red seal but in the candle light she couldn't understand much from the insignia. He caught her staring and turned around to cut her view from his belongings. He pinned her against the wooden frame claiming her body with a desire he did not show and she arched under the pressure of his large hands on her waist. His breath rushed on the back of her ear and she shut her eyes tightly enduring the liquefying sensation that made her stomach convulse. She felt a knot climb up her throat, forcing the little food she had that day to choke her in an attempt to resurface from her stomach. She swallowed in difficultly and placed her hands on his chest trying to keep away from his desperate possession.

"I could…" Kanza hurried to burry his face in her hair, dragging the tip of his tongue up her hair line, along the temple and she jerked her head the opposite direction to avoid a closer contact. "… I could take you to his villa… where… where…" He scratched her sensitive skin with his teeth and she almost cried out the disgust, but the rush of adrenaline killed the angst while still in her chest. "… his trusted men are." She gathered the strength to slowly push him away enough to catch his attention. He was breathing like a racing horse, his temples perspiring and lust rippling in his drunken gaze. He groaned unhappy with the interruption but she insisted. "I know…" He locked her hands behind her back, to push himself against her and she was thankful for the large dress protecting her a little from the unwanted and insinuating intrusion. But he wasn't trying to be subtle. He pushed his leg between hers groaning more against her neck as he licked his way up to her jaw. "Kanza…" He almost hit her head against the door, innerved with her annoying chit-chatter.

"I am not interested in his men! He alone must read…" He heard his instinct fighting the alcohol, but it lost the fight when her breathe nibbled on his ear whispering.

"Nothing can't be so intimate that Alchantar's right hand cannot know…" Her lips fell on his ear lobe and he lost track of his own rules; he no longer remembered threats, scheming, money. Nersin gained control of the situation pushing him until he ran with his back into the table. Her little hands climbed up his chest, grabbing and pulling on the few clothes left on him, to finally massage his neck. Her leg came in between his, probing his groin and he responded with undiminished desire. "Alchantar has no enemies. He is powerful; _very_ powerful." Her fingers tangled in the leather straps keeping his hair together and pulled on them hard causing him to hurt, but the animal inside him enjoyed her roughness. "They say he wants to unite the tribes." His head came up, their eyes met and Nersin sustained his regard audaciously. "And I don't think he can be stopped."

"He could… by her. The woman." Nersin's eyes sparked for a brief moment with his unexpected confession. _Her?_

"No woman will ever bring down our Lord. Unless he stands to get power or privileges." Kanza grinned knowingly and pushed her aside. He grabbed the mug and took a few long sips enjoying the bitterness in the golden liquid.

"You don't know anything." Her confused look empowered him and he took another mouth full of ale, pulling her to him with his free arm. The stench of his alcohol breath made her fall back a bit but the snake had coiled so adamantly around her that she had no escape. "This is no mere woman! This is…" His indecision didn't fool her; why did she ever believe that this man would be different than the others? They all fell for the same trick over and over again; _foolish ignorant women, you don't know anything! So play stupid, smile clumsily, let him illuminate you with his knowledge!_ Nersin, looked away to hide the smile on her face. They lived troubled times yet only half of the men died in battle while the other half died by the hand of their own ego, and Kanza was no exception. "She is a Tekara."

"My Lord, we are at war with the Tekaras."

"That's what you think." He pushed her against the table, emptying the mug. He ripped the shirt off his body and she tried to back up even more when he came for her. The candle fell and all light was gone. He scrambled to find her lips in the pale bluish moon light. She pushed against him avoiding to let him have that kiss, and she sank her hands in the cordon to his pants. Her initiative made him even more aggressive, but as he rushed to take more he lost his balance, grabbing onto her for support. She embraced him to prevent him from falling and he struggled to kiss her again.

"What's her name, this woman? Alchantar would never marry a Tekara, not even for gain!"

His laughter filled the room and he forced her on the table, releasing the pants on the floor. His hands looked feverishly through the folds of her dress, seeking to find the hotness of her inner thighs. His head felt heavy and dizzy, he touched his forehead, feeling, smudging the sweat beads. He was almost out of focus and Nersin shook him enough to relight a spark of sanity in his eyes.

"Not marry her, you stupid woman! Kill her! Now shut up and show me the worth of my money!" he forced her legs apart and she stood up fast enough to place her hand right above his manhood and this urged his mind to reach the point of no return. Her thoughts ran wild with questions and fear. Her gut told her she was about to find out something beyond her comprehension, yet so important it might change her life. A man like this was hard to find, a walking encyclopedia of secrets and it was even harder to make one fall. There were dark forces guiding them, some said. Magical.

"What is her name? The dead woman?" His hands grabbed on her underwear tearing it apart; his breathing almost stopped and so did time and her heart for that one long scary moment.

"Leora." A blink, a shadow and Kanza collapsed on top of her, his hand on her pubic bone and she screamed, fighting to get him off her. She stumbled in her dress and fell of the table, letting him hanging on the side. She covered herself quickly and rushed towards the door. _The letter!_ Her eyes pierced through the darkness staring at the white of the paper blooming among Kanza's black clothes. Her knees trembled under the pressure of such a decision. Her eyes set on his back and against his very slender body, he was ripe with hard muscles and her jaw trembled thinking of what he might be capable of if she took the letter. She had the information; it should've been enough. She leaned against the door and her eyes hurt from too much staring and no blinking. A bolt of energy rushed through her and she wiped the tears away hastingly. _Tekara. Leora. Kill._ She opened the door and stepped outside, careless at the way her crumpled, her hair looking like she had been rolling in the stables. She came down the stairs, one step at a time. She saw her father laughing, serving ale. Her face grimaced with the pain that was to come if he found out about this adventure of hers. From the depth of her ancestral being, her instinct kicked in and guided her steps as she slid along the wall, like an animal, cornered, trying to make his escape unseen and unheard. The door to the tavern was so close in reach yet it would have taken just a glimpse from her father to spot her. Her mouth was dry, her head hurt. Her fingers clasped around the handle, the door opened with a shy screech of the hinges, but through the loud cheering, it went on unnoticed.

She stood out in the cold air of the night, feeding on the breeze. It cleansed through her pain infested body, clearing her mind. She looked down the dirt road at the whores hiding in the shadows, at the men lurking, carnivores of a better race. She stepped gently, head down, fists clenched into a fist. She had to get home.

**W W W W W W W W**

Vortrok grinned, collecting the coins from his happy customers, but his eyes inspected the room looking for her. It had been a while since she had gone up with the stranger. Stranger to many perhaps, but not to him. He put the money in his pocket, picked up the empty mugs and threw them in a bucket. He wiped his hands, checking the stairs, looking at the men sliding down the wall, incapacitated to the point where they struggled to button their pants. He threw the towel away and went upstairs, opening the door to the first bedroom. One of his customers had collapsed on the bed and now his whore was trying to revive him enough to make him pay and get the hell out of there.

"Better not let him leave with my money!" Vortrok pointed at the man with a clear firm voice as he stepped out. He heard the woman shout through the closing door, but ignored her and moved on to the next door. The brunette he had bought from another tavern was riding a soldier and she was riding him hard. Vortrok stared for a moment, feeling a hard on coming. _I should personally check on my merchandise, more often!_ He grinned and if his mouth had been open, saliva would've dripped out. He closed the door slowly, keeping his eye on her large breasts as they bounced violently with each heavy thrust of the man underneath her. The door closed and Vortrok reached down and pressed on his crotch feeling the pulsation. He grinned again, but kept going. Pleasure never killed business for him. The last door opened but it was dark inside. He looked for a match and cursed bitterly when he couldn't find one. He wanted to step out of the room when he saw him, face down on the table. Kanza mumbled something, rolling on the side, falling to the floor with a loud sound; everything else on the table followed, making a terrible ruckus; Vortrok startled uncontrollably. His arousal died as fast as it had arisen, and he hurried to help the man up and lay him on the bed. He knew what Kanza was and what he was capable of; kings from the northern countries had come this far to hire the services of people like him. They did all the dirty work for the rich and powerful, they were feared and respected. He looked through the room in desperation and saw that nothing else had been disturbed. He backed off slowly, still looking at the man passed out on the bed. He went by the table and rearranged the chairs; he picked up Kanza's clothes and folded them with shaky hands. He stepped lightly out of the room, closing the door quietly. He waited behind it, breathless, to perceive any movement from inside. But from his bed, Kanza did nothing. The moon light crept under the table mirrored in the glass of the mug, making the three rubies on the golden handle of his dagger spark. The glitter drew stars of precious colors on the red seal of an envelope left behind.

**W W W W W W W W**

"Nersin!" Dene ran to her, snuggling his face in her tummy and she couldn't refrain from stroking his hair lovingly. No one could put a smile on her face like her little brother did. He looked up, not letting go of her waist. "You're not going, are you?" His chestnut eyes looked at her with the most heart breaking plea, but she wasn't about to leave him; not anymore. She came on her knees, holding his shoulders strongly.

"Dene…" She closed her mouth allowing her brain to sieve her thoughts through; she had to make him understand; so he didn't fear. "Dene, would you come with me if I asked you to?" His little fists came up and his lips puckered with a vengeance.

"I will defend you from them! I told you I would!"

"No, no my divine sun and moon and stars, my love!" she said it all in one breath and it healed her heart to say happy words; it alleviated the sorrow within. "If you come with me now, you won't have to defend me anymore…" His skinny arms came down in defeat and she could read the worry on his smudged face.

"And father?" His lips barely spoke the word, and his eyes rolled looking for a trace of their parent in the house. He feared the very wind that it might carry away his words and their father would learn of his mischief and punish him.

"Just us, my love. You and me."

"And father?" Nersin ran out of words and explanations. For all she cared he could rot in hell, she didn't want to know what would become of him.

"Dene, do you trust me, little brother? Do not force me to leave you behind because I will not."

"But –"

"Please, the light of my eyes and love of my life, come with me! There is a place where I think we will both be safe, but I cannot go there without your help. I am lost without you!" The tears in her eyes didn't stop her from laying a cascade of small sweet kisses all over his face. And when those tears finally rolled down her cheeks Dene was there to wipe them away with his dirty little fingers.

"I will my _hayeda!_" Nersin's lips curved into the most truthful smile she had felt in a long time and she bit on her lower lip to keep it from growing wider and happier. The time for laughter would come soon enough, but now they were in danger for time was short and their father would soon learn of her doing. He knotted his little hands around her neck and she indulged in the brotherly love she was receiving. Her hand stroke the back of his head for the last time.

"We must hurry. Here!" She released him quickly, grabbing his parka to dress him up good for the cold night. She looked at his used boots with his big toes sticking out, but there was no time. She grabbed her shawl and ran into their small improvised kitchen and ransacked through the shelves looking for food, but as usual their father kept everything at the tavern. His children were fed on ratios; they didn't bring in enough money to be fed the same as his clients. She cursed in her chin, looking back to see if Dene heard her. She found some bread and stuck it in a bag, two slices of cheese and a few apples. They were about to go bad, but she took them anyway. She threw the bag on her shoulder then ran to the front door, sticking her head out slowly to see if someone had followed her. Nothing suspicious. She closed the door and barricaded it with a chair. She grabbed Dene by the hand, and as they came out she saw his little leather hat and got that too. Dene stepped outside through the back door; Nersin followed him closely by when her hand froze on the handle.

"Wait for me here!" She stepped back inside closing the door behind her. A few moments later she came out, looking all red in the face with glowing satisfied eyes. She helped Dene get on their father's horse, and then mounted behind him, wrapping him in her shawl.

"_Hayeda_, where are we going?" Nersin reined the horse out of the little yard without looking back.

"Somewhere far from here, my darling."

The sound of the taverns in the distance covered the heavy sound of the hooves hitting the dirt as they fled into the night. Behind them, the flames burst out through the small windows of what used to be their home; when they had a mother. When they had it all.

**W W W W W W W W**

**My darlings – whoever is reading this – I have finally figured a story line for this piece of work right here. It is much longer than I wanted it to be, but that's how my mind works I guess I hope you enjoy it and that you don't get lost as we go, among all the characters and plotting. I still have no reviews so I'm going a bit blindly at it hoping you like it So, see you guys in the next chapter! Xoxo Mela**


	7. Chap 6  Cross Roads

**Cross Roads**

"My Lord?" but Alchantar kept silence, looking ahead. His eyebrows had come together so closely and angrily looking like one long thick line above those dark eyes, as if the burden of the world had laid on his shoulders. His upper lip twitched dismissing the thoughts roaming in his head and he swallowed in quick and short; his eyes bowed remembering the seriousness of his own deed and how he had come to fail at the court of the Khalasar.

"What?" His general was caught by surprise and spent a moment before hurrying to catch up with him. His horse aligned with the black stallion of Lord Wolof and the man fretted trying to find the words that would not disturb the fragile calmness of his already angered master.

"My Lord, you looked troubled. What worries you?"

"Death." The answer came so swiftly that it cut off short any well prepared consolation answer from the general's part. He should've known better; it wasn't consolation that the dark lord needed. He needed revenge.

"My Lord!..."

But Wolof went back to his solitude and didn't respond. His eyes lingered on the rolling hills ahead of them and the green humps blurred by the heavy fog reminded him of the sinuous movement of a snake.

"How long to the border?" Alchantar's voice pulled the general back to reality.

"I am not sure My Lord! Perhaps a day or two. The meadows of Walloria are traitorous to the eye and these evil mists do not let us see into the distance!"

Alchantar kicked his horse hurrying ahead and his little army followed close by. His eyes focused on the murky landscape ahead, his heart racing faster than the gallop of his horse. His general rushed behind in an attempt to talk to him but the Wolof didn't pay attention.

"My Lord, there is still a long way to the Wall, if we go at this pace we'll kill the horses!" his voice trembled with the effort of breathing with the powerful wind in his face and the weight of the long cap on his shoulders; it dangled on the side relentlessly with each impetuous movement of the animal dragging his tired body down.

"They can die when we reach the border!" Alchantar pulled harder on the reins and the horse took speed across the dewy plains. Behind him his men had no choice but to follow him in his madness. At their far right, the woods of Walloria were stretching their tenebrous shadows, trying to reach out into the open fields. They were but ghosts in this cursed land, and the night was crawling among the deep roots of the old trees feeding them with dark powers. Soon, the race was lost and the nebulous swallowed the small Wolof party; the silence settled back on these far away territories and even the sound of the hooves hitting the dirt got lost in the whispers of the wind

**W W W W W W W W**

She looked into the distance but the fog hid away everything before them. Nersin's hand circled tighter around her brother's slumberous body. He had leaned dangerously to the side and she jerked her arm to force him back in the saddle. She was exhausted and cold and hungry. Her skin was damp; her hair was messy trailing down heavily on her shoulders, with long strands stuck to her temples. A howl in the falling night and she startled somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She looked over her shoulder at the Walloria woods standing tall and threatening and she felt like running into the opposite direction, but the Wall was straight ahead and she had to be there before the night took over the border lands entirely.

There was a silence so deep it made her feel lonely in the immensity of the open field, riding for what it seemed an eternity. They had been on the road all night and now the sun was setting fast on the first day of their journey to freedom. It had been difficult crossing the vast plains of the Wolof territory; she had never left her home town; she had never been on her own but from the merchants'tales she had gained good knowledge of the roads and the stars were a good guide for her. But all her theories were about to be put to a test. Dene gripped with his little hands on her sleeves and she brushed her lips against the top of his head, breathing warmth in his hair. His eyes flickered under the closed eyelids and she sighed still keeping a strong hold on her brother. If she knew one thing for sure, it was to take care of her family. First her dying mother and now her only other relative that really mattered; and she was not about to give up. The wind was getting harsher, stumbling down on them like the billow striking madly against the sea shores and her hair flew up in the air, bringing chills down her spine. They were getting close to the Wall, the last standing barricade in between them and the life she had always dreamt of having. Her hands clang on the reins pulling the horse to a halt and he neighed unhappily with the abrupt command. Fear was deeply seeded in her soul; she was too young and her inexperience was easy to read in the worried eyes and the fretting pulse, pushing her chest forward so fast it almost hurt.

"Nersin?..."

"Yes, my love…" her voice sounded lost and she couldn't take her eyes off the serpent trailing dangerously close into the mists. The Wall was near and she knew what lay in its womb.

**W W W W W W W W**

"Open the gates!" The General brought his torch up trying to throw light on the faces behind him. The eyes peaking through the peep whole stared suspiciously, narrowing against the heat of the flame. The general stuck his face in the peep whole forcing the man behind the gate to retreat. "Didn't you hear me fool? Open these damn gate or it will be the last thing you do!" The soldier's eyes flickered with panic but he didn't seem to hurry to obey his order. Another man stepped from the dark pushing the soldier aside.

"Who are you to order my men when to open the gate?"

"I could ask you the same thing! But as my patience is running thin I might just stick this blade right in between your eyes and open the gate myself!" The two men stared at each other in meaningful burning silence and their eyes flashed thunders through the peep whole. The general took a step back bringing the torch up, enough for the commander behind the gate to see Alchantar Wolof ready to burst into uncontrollable rage. The peep whole closed at once. The heavy wooden gate made way inside slowly and the old rusty hinges squeaked powerless to the manpower forcing it open. The general led the small military unit inside and as he passed him by, Alchantar drilled with his eyes into the garrison commander's head, warning him about the discussion they were about to have; soon enough. _I must think first…And plan…_

"I ask for your forgivness, My Lord!" The post commander bowed before Wolof's general, but the man took his time tying his horse to the pylon.

"Save your breath commander. You'll need it for later."

_You unspeakable…!_ The commander looked right into the general's back as he stepped away from him without even granting him the honor of a military salute and his hands squeezed harder on the sword handle.

"You! Make sure all their horses are fed. And clean that pig stall you call our quarters in case Alchantar wants to inspect the place. And tell Sallar to start cooking dinner and he better come up with something better than that hogwash from yesterday!"

"Yes My Lord!" The soldier hurried to leave but the commander caught his arm and pulled him back.

"And get all the men into position. I smell a foul end to this story." The young man didn't even dare to get his hand back until his aggravated commander didn't let go; and when he finally left, the commander's eyes rose slowly to look at the purple skies as it grew darker into the falling night.

**W W W W W W W W**

She focused on her nose and tip tilted that red frozen tip trying to warm it, but it was too numb. She brought her hand up slowly, feeling how every muscle in her back worked at making that movement possible and she wondered how much longer it would take for her to collapse. A gush of wind brought the howls of the Walloria forest nearer her and she bent over Dene in an attempt to protect him from the invisible dangers lurking in the dark. The Wall was standing tall before her and she did her best to focus her tired eyes on finding the gate. She knew from travelers stopping at the inn that the outpost to the wall was close to the Walloria woods. She knew how to get to the Wall; everyone did. But the exact location of the gates, she did not know and now she searched blindly in the dyeing light to see a crack of light anywhere in the middle of these scary waste lands. A noise, a swish behind her and she looked over her shoulder again, holding her breathe, pulling Dene closer. Her heart beat annoyed her with how hard it struck in her chest, louder than the sounds around her and she let the air flow out rapidly, chasing away the ghosts haunting her mind. She thought she heard the rumor of voices and she looked carefully trying to use the last traces of light in her favor and find the source of that ruckus. The fog was so thick, allowing e dark to sieve through and reach the ground so much faster and soon it was peach black; but she was sure she had heard it come from up the wall. The horse stepped steadily along the white stone of the massive construction and Nersin felt small compared to the cold grandiosity of this monument of power that Alchantar had built to protect his country. She tried to keep her fears at bay, allowing her body to relieve the panic with every breath she took but it always came back to her, smacking in her face with an icy hand, as the night grew colder by the minute. Dene had cuddled his little face in her forearm and his warm breath made her reason and stay alert. Her eyes hurt from too much staring and she couldn't even tell whether she was going into the right direction. She could've stretched her hand to touch the cold lime stone but she feared the creatures crawling in that blackness. And then a beam of light cutting through the dark, born out of the wall and dying into the tall grass of the meadow lying at her feet. The light flickered and she heard again those far away voices. The gate was right before her and she saw movement behind it. The garrison was alive with soldiers she did not want to meet. The same old pulsation of disgust between her legs made her pull her knees closer, but instead she pushed in the ribs of the horse forcing it to move forward.

"Dene! Dene, wake up!" But he was fast asleep, protected by her body, all wrapped up in her shawl. "Dene!" He finally moved his head slightly coming around enough for her to point towards the light. "The garrison!" She whispered and Dene blinked confused at firs. But then he saw the shadows passing through the light and the louder voices coming from inside and he pulled back to her chest, trying to chase away the sleep with the back of his hands.

"Nersin, let's go around!" His whispers were blown away by the wind and Nersin bent down with her ear to his mouth to hear him.

"There is no going around Dene. Only through."

"But I am scared." And his weary voice chased away the coat of protective sleep still lingering on his swollen eyes.

"So am I, dear brother, so am I. When we go inside, don't say anything, let me talk." Dene nodded, still fighting the numbness in his limbs to get a better grip of the horse's crest. "And Dene, whatever you do, don't say anything about father! If you do, we are lost!"

"But we didn't do anything wrong!"

"No we didn't, but he has and…" she sighed with a tremor in her arms as she guided the horse in front of the gate. "Just don't say anything."

She stared at the gates and couldn't decide to knock. She felt that if she staid on the horse would give her the advantage of fleeing if something happened. _Don't be stupid girl!_ If anything happened, they wouldn't make it out alive, so better not show an offending attitude from the beginning. Reluctantly, she decided to dismount and knock. She heard the movement inside halt for a moment and a cold sweat swirled down her spine knowing there was no going back now. She quickly pulled the shawl tight around her chest to hide any trace of womanhood that would give these men the craving for more than what she had to offer. The door opened slowly and a young soldier of a boyish look, stared at her in surprise.

"What do you want?" And he sounded just as surprised as she was.

"Safe passage!" she didn't recognize the sweet and clear voice as being hers but she was happy she could still speak at all.

The young man inspected her head to toe, then came closer to look at Dene and at what they were carrying.

"Stay here!" And he left, leaving her to an agonizing feeling of anxiety waiting to see what would become of her and her precious cargo.

"Nersin…?"

"Shh! Don't speak Dene. We're not out of the woods yet!"

"Do you think he is going to let us pass?" He had leaned so much into the saddle trying to whisper in her ear that she was afraid he might fall. She urged him back into the saddle with false anger, pulling down on the torn brim of his hat.

"Please Dene, keep quiet!"

"You!" She froze with her hands on her brother's legs. "Turn around!" Feared crawled under her skin spilling into her gut and her stomach knotted with panic. "I said turn around!" She did and the man behind her was no longer a boy; her heart sank lower in her chest, recognizing the tall brute figure of a soldier resting in the doorstep of her bedroom, drunk and wanting to get under her clothes. She pulled back hitting with her elbow into the horse's bit and he neighed unhappily. She used the distraction to calm and wither the suffocating feeling of agitation away so when she turned around again she was ready to make her demand.

"Sire, I would –"

"Who are you and why are you trying to cross the borders at this time of night? Only those who flee cross the borders at night." He said it chewing on each word as if he already knew what they were and what their plan was.  
>"We are not fleeing. We just got lost on our way here and the night caught up with us."<p>

The man came closer looking straight at her, uninterested in the little curious boy in the saddle. He reached for her and slowly pulled down the shawl hiding her young beauty. His eyes beamed in the dim torch light and she felt a wave of shock rippling in her head behind her wide open eyes.

"Then you will not mind staying here until morning. People who do not flee … do not hurry."

She swallowed in dryly and nodded in acceptance but she was an open book to a soldier his age and so vexed. The marks under his chin told her he had been in the duty for a long time. Only soldiers who have spent most of their lives in the military had those scars from the helmets they always wore. He was no fool. _Merciful mother, please –_

"Leave the horse here! Take your boy and follow me."

The gates closed behind her and she ignored the sound caging her inside the walls. She brought Dene down from the horse and before she could do anything about it, the young soldier took the animal from her, leaving her standing in the middle of the small yard. Dene held strongly on her hand looking up at her waiting for answers. But she didn't have any. She stroked his hair fast and short, with a fugitive smile on her numb lips.

"This way!" The older soldier showed her down the stairs. She looked at the chipped slippery stone of the stair case leading into the basement and her eyes played mind tricks on her. She was tired with the happenings of the past day and with the long journey and now this void of circling stairs had the power to swallow her entirely.  
>"Nersin!" Dene kept her from falling and she leaned against the wooden door frame to rest for a moment. Her eyes wondered to the sky but instead she saw the small window above, lit by candles. Two men were discussing fiercely, gesturing, pacing back and forth.<p>

The Wall was large enough to allow the construction of two tiny shackles where the hand full of soldiers forming the border garrison dwelt for months, until a new formation was sent to replace them. The small rooms were built against each side of the Wall, leaving enough room for a small yard in the middle, filled with the stench of horse manure and chicken shit from the few poultry the garrison cook shepherded. The rooms upstairs looked as if they were about to collapse at any moment and she wondered how the two men had fit in there. The boyish soldier passed her by in a hurry almost running down the stairs and she spun on her heel to keep her balance from the swirl of wind he left behind him. Dene gave her support and she offered him yet another weaken smile.

"I've got you you, Ners…"

Down below, the commander's deputy addressed the soldier guarding the massive wooden door, probably the strongest gate inside their small compound.

"Keep her here, separated from the boy. Feed her something. Not the boy."

"Her, My Lord?" the jailer seemed confused.

The young soldier came flying down the stairs catching his breath; behind him a young girl appeared holding close to a little boy. The deputy looked again at his man signaling him as to what he had to do. He turned around and on his way out, he warned the boy who had opened the gates.

"You stay with him and make sure nothing of what this girl has to offer allures any of you into setting her free. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Good."

The deputy passed Nersin by without a word and as he left the heavy door opened before her. The soldier pulled Dene away from her, forcing them to break apart. Her eyes flamed; the animal inside her shed its camouflage skin ready to turn into a naked predator.

**W W W W W W W W**

"Commander!" The deputy came up the tiny spiraled stair case, ducking to avoid hitting his head against the low ceiling. "What's going on?"

But the commander remained silent trying to understand what was being said on the other side of the door. He lowered his ear to the key whole and the deputy looked at him in wonder, not knowing what to make of the bizarre behavior of a life long military ear dropping on his king's private conversations.

"There's _something_ going on. I hear something about Drogo, but I cannot –"

"Khal Drogo? What would Alchantar want with him?"

The commander gave up listening tired with failing to understand.

"What all men with power want. More power."

"I think I have something downstairs that could appease his spirits."

"Wine?" The commander chuckled for a moment then spoke as if he was already ordering his deputy to bring the liqueur up. "Lot's of it!"

"No. A girl."

"A girl?" he pressing his hand down on his broad chest but his proud laughter ended with an ugly coughing. "Maybe we have been here for too long. I will ask Alchantar to send the new patrol out tomorrow when he leaves for Karok."

"Commander there is a girl downstairs with a young boy. I believe they are trying to flee."

The old timer took a moment to consider the deputy's words then sighed making his nostrils swell with the rush of air.

"How many times have fugitives knocked first to ask for passage?"

The deputy smiled a crooked but malice smile.

"Maybe she doesn't know how it's done."

"Take me to this girl. She might win us a ride home if we play this card right."

**W W W W W W W W**

"We shouldn't have stopped! We should've kept riding! We would have reached the gates of Karok by dawn!" Alchantar pushed a chair aside almost throwing it to the floor.

"My Lord, there is time. The night would have slowed us down. And the wooden lands are not safe territory, not even for royalty!" The general put the chair back keeping his composure around the aggravated king.

"I am not afraid of stupid superstitions. Walloria is no different from any other forest! Magic tricks are for children not for me!" He went to the window trying to look out but he could barely see anything through the dirty glass. The torches were dying below in the small improvised yard. "What a shit whole!..."

The general kept silence, letting Alchantar rummage through his thoughts, letting the burning coal of his own fury cool down.

"Khal Drogo is too proud of a man." The ashes of his attempt to form an alliance with the Dothraki chieftain were now rising to vanish through words in this suffocating room, trapped between these walls.

"He needs to be persuaded My Lord!"

"I offered him power, more power than he could dream of!"

"He leads the strongest tribe on the shores of the Dothraki sea. What need does he have for more power?"

"You speak like a man who has done nothing in his life but obey orders. Absolute power. It gives you a taste of… immortality."

"Some people do not seek immortality. They seek peace."

"Khal Drogo is a savage who would pull your heart still beating out of your chest and then scalp you and let you bleed to death! He's not a man of peace!"

The general sat in the chair, looking at the small candle burning silently and he rested his elbows on the table counting the wormholes left in the old wood. Its flickering light mirrored into the smudged window and his eyes were caught by the peaceful image for a moment.

"The Khalesar will do what he wants to do, as he always did. What your Majesty needs to do, is make Khal believe he wants to do, what you want to do."

Alchantar turned his head slowly gathering the essence of those words.

"I will not fall to my knees before the Dothraki to make Drogo accept my offer."

"Maybe you don't have to. The Khalasar is not a fool. He recognizes and values a good offer. But he always considers his honor first. He will do nothing that could damage his reputation. Have patience My Lord, and your efforts might be crowned with success."

Alchantar remained thoughtful and untrusting. Khal Drogo had dismissed him so easily. His only chance now was lying with the Council of the Old. Drogo would respect the decision of his elders if they considered his offer beneficial. But that would take time and time was something he did not have. He reached for the candle on the table catching the flame in his palm. The fingers closed slowly around it suffocating the life out of the feeble light. The general's eyes flared for one last time before dark settled upon them. _The Tekaras must fall!_

**W W W W W W W W**

"They are mighty silent for two fleeing criminals!"

"The silent ones are the worst!" The deputy joked shutting the peep whole to the jail door.

"Especially when they wear skirts and dart green eyes at you!"

They looked at the young soldier piercing through the closed door completely enveloped in the memory of Nersin's generous cleavage.

"I don't think his eyes ever reached hers…" The commander laughed patting the young man on the soldier, strong enough to almost uproot him from the chair where Nersin had foxily pinned him with her lash regard and swing of that voluptuous chest.

"Bring her upstairs. I will go tell Alchantar of our little gift for him."

The deputy nodded; as soon as the commander disappeared up the stairs, he took the water vessel and opened the door to Nersin's prison. A trail of clothes led to a maiden of fair skin and elusive emerald eyes. His jaw fell slightly ajar; she moved and the thin material of her gown caressed the lavish curves of her breasts. His eyes followed the soft lines, down her naked shoulders, to her tinny hands; to the chain she was holding. A short cry and the nudeness of her skin melted into the whiteness of the material. And then nothing.

**W W W W W W W W**

"What?" Alchantar's voice reached through the door allowing the commander to step inside.

"My Lord! The candle burnt out! Here!" The soldier hurried to bring his torch inside lighting the untidy room. But when he approached he saw the candle untouched and stopped in his tracks with his eyes set on the general's shadow lurking in the chair next to the window.

"What?" Alchantar repeated his question in the same demanding tone, unwilling to explain himself to the garrison commander.

"I have the feeling the journey has indisposed you. I would like to offer you something to alleviate the pain."

The Wolof smiled intrigued and couldn't help the irony in his voice when he spoke.

"Those chickens over there are older than you are. And where I come from we share the bed with a woman. Anything smaller that we can't grab onto, we might crush in the sheets." His general chuckled enjoying the roughness in Alchantar's remark. The commander of a small outpost had no say over the cruelty of the Wolof King or the General of Karok.

"We could learnt to share the bed with a woman again My Lord, if we were but given the chance. It has been months since we were not sent any replacements. Perhaps, your Majesty could alleviate this pain for us…"

Alchantar was curious; the man seemed sincerely inclined to serve him something special.

A thumping down below and the commander's eyebrow arched as he remained bowed; he listened carefully but there was nothing, nothing else then the noise of the small yard.

A kick and Nersin opened the door desperately. Alchantar placed both hands on the window sill so he can go low enough and see what was going on.

The girl hurried back pulling a young boy from the basement stair case. She was barely dressed and the long white underskirt made her stumble on her way to pull the boy. She pushed him so hard she almost threw him to the ground. She spun around like a mad woman looking for something when she saw the pitch fork resting against the wall to the cellar. A young soldier stuck his head out the door, dizzy from the smoke coming from the cellar and she used the handle to hit him with all her might. Alchantar's lips parted taken aback by the eerie demonstration of force. The boyish soldier fell down on the door step and she took a step back holding dearly to her makeshift weapon.

Nersin saw the deputy coming up behind the young man lying on the stairs. He wiped the blood on his face with the back of his hand, but more blood gushed from the broken eyebrow, dripping down his cheek. The dirt on his face mingled with the sweat from the flames she had set in the cellar and his eyes had borrowed the strength of the fire, flamed up with anger. His eyebrow stung but not enough to stop him from killing the little witch who had so traitorously attacked him. Nersin turned the pitch fork around, pointing the sharp metal towards his abdomen but the man kept coming towards her. Behind her Dene got up and saw the flames crawling up the wooden stair case, lighting the yard with the strength of their fiery tongues. He rushed to the hoarse who was pulling on the reins scared with the agitation around him.

"Nersin! Nersin!" But Nersin had her eyes on the giant coming for her. She swung the fork, trying to make him fall back but the deputy was undeterred. He hit the fork so hard that the wooden handle vibrated in her hand powerfully hurting her fingers and the pain seared through her palms. She almost lost the grip on her improvised weapon. Behind the commander's deputy the fire was growing higher.

Upstairs the commander dropped the torch hurrying down the stairs. Alchantar laughed with satisfaction.

"This is why they need the chickens! Naked women are too much for them!" Had he only known that this naked woman was the vessel holding the most valuable information in his kingdom, he would not have laughed so easily at her brave struggle. But the Mighty Powers had a way of adding salt and pepper to a mortal's life, for even a King was mortal and did not know it all.

Nersin backed off and Dene pulled on her dress forcing the material to slide off her shoulders almost completely. The second-in-comand took advantage grabbing the pitch fork from her hands, throwing it in a corner. Nersin took a step back, looking feverishly to find Dene behind her and keep him away from the man's rage. She found him and he clang hard on her hands. He stepped on her dress helping the torn material to tear even more and she groaned under the pressure of it all. The horse neighed, pulling violently on the reins and Dene lost his balance bringing both of them to the ground. The commander reached for her and she kicked with her legs, once, twice, in his chest and shoulders.

"Dene! Run, Dene!" But Dene had sworn to protect her. He remembered his little knife tucked in the saddle and struggled to reach for it; but the horse was too tall and kept moving unsteadily. He fell to the ground with tears in his eyes. By now the deputy had his hands well fitted under her chin strangling her fragile neck between his large hands. Dene threw himself at the man murdering his sister and fisted his arms with all his might. But one thrust of the soldier's arm and he went down biting the dust. He opened his eyes and saw the pointy rockinches away from his face and he cried out with the effort to grab it.

Alchantar saw the commander getting outside into the yard. But he did not intervene. _At least you're left with that dignity!_ It would have been pathetic for two men to attack a helpless woman with a child. Yet Alchantar was pleased by the game and mocked at the fire burning down the cellar. The woman's legs were now sticking out from under the deputy's heavy body and the image stirred him. Somehow he wished the material revealed more. The struggle, the violence, the passion. The little boy behind her went up on his two skinny legs and with a wild scream launched at the deputy again. He dropped to his knees before the man making him howl like a wounded animal. Dene still held on to the rock when the deputy fell to the side, bracing his sore leg.

Dene grabbed Nersin, pulling hard on her numb arms. She was coughing violently trying to breathe. The flames were burning her face, she couldn't hear, she couldn't speak. She couldn't see where she was going. Dene brought the horse closer but the commander hurried to cut them off when a barrel of liquor exploded in his face bringing him and the deputy into an agonizing pain. The horse went up on his back legs kicking scared and Nersin clang onto him with all she had. Dene stepped on her shoulders going up in the saddle but before she could do the same the horse galloped out of the yard, dragging her along on the side. The gate put up little resistance to the frightened animal and as soon as he was free from the limbo of flames and screams he ran into the darkness. But Nersin let go; the dewy cold grass of the Walloria meadows soothed her burning skin and the tears in her eyes. She dug her fingers deep in the moist soil, crying. She could die for all she cared and give her body to the mists; Dene would be safe.

**W W W W W W W W**

He stared into the distance fretting, weary with the thick fog hiding everything around. One victory did not mean the war had ended and Alchantar was only taking his time before striking again. Cedric rubbed the sleep away from his eyelids and the dry skin of his palms gave him a rough weakening to the gloomy morning. It was too early for Leora to have woken up. The village was slumberous and quiet; but he had to stay guard. He worried; he found a barrel and sat down, placing his sword at his side. He looked into the fog as if he stared at a wide open field. The light creeping through the milky clouds infected his sight and hurt his tiered eyes. The Tekaras knew who she was now. It was just a matter of time before they all did, and then the Wolofs would have a reason more to bring his people to ruin. Leora could not be lost; if they lost her, they lost not just the Tekaras but the border Kingdom, their only defense against the Northern country of the Stark family. He had never been to the North, but their kind was different and things were better left that way.

A random sound in the fields below caught his attention and his eyes rolled slowly as if all his other senses had focused to perceive that slight movement in the mists. He went up half way, crawling slowly close to the edge of the wall. His blue eyes darted across the land; he knew where each tree and each stone would be, but now that the fog had taken over the place he could only wait and see whether his gut was right. _Yes, slowly now…_ A steady yet limp sound of steps came in from within the wall of shadows and he pinned his senses to that distinctive noise, approaching the village gate. Behind him Ortezza stretched from all his numb fat joints.

"Hey, eagle eyes, where is my ale?" His shoulder clacked and he groaned pleased with the effect of his early morning massage. Cedric turned around abruptly and hushed him signaling him to duck. Ortezza kept silent for a moment, his eyes still blurred from his troubled sleep.

"You don't think…"

"Shut up and come here!" Ortezza slid his round body down the wall, staring at Cederic. "Listen! Do you hear it?"

At first the archer's eyes dimmed with mistrust but soon his dormant senses came to life grasping on the sound.

"Hooves. Horses."

"It's too faint. It's… it can't…" Cedric looked through the small wholes in the wall waiting for something to appear from behind the foggy curtain. A shadow. A shadow of white, moving slowly, steadily. His hand reached for the sword; Ortezza quickly looked for his but he had never worn his weapons with his drawers so today was no exception. Cedric's eyes witched at him venomously for being so careless as to come in his underpants to guard the walls.

"You are useless!" But his attention switched rapidly to the approaching stranger. The horse stopped before the gates, snuffling. Steam was raising from his sweaty body and he shook his head a few times, tired of the weight he was carrying. The two men stood up carefully, still cautious at the possible dangers lurking in the fog.

Cedric bent over the edge but he couldn't see properly. A white canvas was covering the horse, it could've been a package or a body, he couldn't tell. He bent more and he saw the copper curls dangling on the white material. Then a child; and he cried shortly then fell off the horse like a sack of grains. Cedric dropped the sword to run down to the gate. Ortezza followed him pulling on his underpants the best he could to keep them from falling. The massive gates opened and Cedric rushed to the aid of the child. He lifted him gently on his knees. Beneath the smudge and the dirt there was the little face of a boy. His eyebrows were burnt and his face was covered in soot. Ortezza kneeled at his side covering him with a blanket. Cedric looked down at his little bloody fingers; he had so much dirt under the broken fingernails, as if he had dug into earth to live. The general took him from Cedric's arms and hurried back into the village crying for help.

Cedric stood up slowly, still listening to the sounds of the mists. The horse hit the ground nervously and he patted the animal gently. His hand remained wet and dirty with the animal's sweat and he wanted to relieve him from the burden on his back. His hand pulled away the cape covering part of the saddle and it revealed a foot dangling wrapped in white material. Cedric tore the cape away completely showing the body of a young woman. He took a step back, not thinking she was dead. And for once death looked beautiful. He sat there staring at her limp body with a pain needle stuck in his throat. Her long copper hair brushed against the crest of the horse, hiding her face away partially. Her hand fell from the saddle and little by little her entire body shifted, sliding down from the horse. A gasp and she lost balance falling to the ground. Cedric sped to catch her dropping to his knees with her in his arms.

His muscle flickered in his jaw; his eyes fell to her cold skin, stretching on the slender neck as she lay motionless in his arms, her head slightly falling back, her lips parted and he feared touching them to feel her breath. He jerked her body up against his chest to hold her with just one arm using his other hand to bring her head up and softly nest it in the crook of his neck. Something about this stranger made him want to nurse her and he rejected the magnetism between their bodies, for his was now just as numb as hers and he couldn't bring himself to just carry her away and place her in someone else's care. He cleared her eyelids from a few heavy strands and her eyes flickered underneath. A groan from deep within her chest ending with a faint cry of pain and she turned her head around hiding her face against his neck. He felt her breathing and the warmth of those lips against his skin traveled through his veins warming his body in a way he did not want to acknowledge. His eyes just as vigilant, his grip on her just as strong, but his heart went weak. He gathered her arms in her lap, trying to cover as much of her legs as he could with the leftovers from her dress. _What woman rides dressed like this?_ He shook his head, not knowing what to make of this strange apparition that the mists have brought to his door step. The rags of her former dress slid down her tiny shoulders revealing the sweet curve of her breasts and his hand fell with a tremor before pulling the material enough to cover her nakedness. He sneaked his arm under her knees and lifted her up gently and he couldn't remember when he had given so much thought to the weight of a woman in his arms feeling so good. Unwillingly, his fingers went deeper in her flesh as if he wanted to make sure he had a strong hold on her body. As he turned around more soldiers came running through the gate. Ortezza, who had managed to put his pants on, tucked the precious finding under a blanket, staring intrigued at the girl barely breathing in Cedric's arms.


	8. Chap 7  Alliances

**Alliances**

An ancestral calling smoldered in the murky green as he preyed on her with hawk eyes. The girl stepped inside shyly, closing the door behind her carefully. She kept her eyes down, letting the long black hair hide her young features as she came near his bed. The Khalasar lay softly in the covers with his legs crossed and his head resting in his palms, his eyes alone rolling slowly catching each of her moves as she took her clothes off. The thin shawl fell to the ground and her nakedness caused a tremor in his stomach, sending vibes that pooled down below in his groin, filling him with desire. She stood up right, naked and vulnerable to the morning light and he let her wait, for him to bask his eyes in her nudity. He sensed her shyness and discomfort with being watched so openly and he enjoyed the power it gave him. His eyes did not mock at her but his manhood did from under the thin covers carelessly thrown around his waist. He stretched his hand neglectfully signaling her to approach and she bowed, obediently. His hand went back to support the back of his head and he closed his eyes savoring the hollow in the mattress when she kneeled on it with panther movements, gentle and unheard. Her lips felt warm as they landed on his ankle and she circled with the tip of her tongue the bone protruding under the tanned skin. Khal's nostrils filled with the rumors of a groan surging from his chest and he masked it with a quick exhale. Strands of her hair caressed along his strong legs as she climbed up cautiously to his knee caps, kissing each inch of skin, meticulously, one soft touch at a time. Her hands gripped on his muscular legs to support her weight as she continued crawling up his motionless body and she stopped for a second, waiting for him to give her permission to touch him further.

Khal felt her unsteady breath on his knees and the pressure in her back as she staid pinned on top of him without letting her body touch his, fearing his wrath. He freed his hands and caressed the top of her head gently, tangling his fingers in the black soft rings crowning her shoulders. He pulled softly on her hair and she allowed her elbows to break loose from the pressure and she finally lowered further down on him. Low enough for her nipples to graze his skin and her core pulsated suddenly with the raunchy feeling of his hair titling the sensitive buds. His hand never left her, guiding her to his hips. She ended the row of small kisses to the side of the curly black patch of hair that did little to hide his proud manhood. She removed the material away freeing him completely and Khal let his head fall back into the pillows the moment her lips pressed at the base of his cock, resting there long enough to make his weak patience weaken even more. His hand slid numbly to the side of his body and she took the liberty to run her tongue all the way up to the tip where she placed yet another long tantalizing kiss. A smothered grunt surfaced his lips as he remained submissive to her mastery tongue. His body arched slightly with an incredibly burning sensation when her hand cupped him, sliding up and down his length and his cock reacted with a pulsation she couldn't resist. She placed the tip in between her lips and soon it deepened further in her mouth and his fingers clasped on the sheets for a moment. Her eyes followed the movement of his fists, measuring his reactions, adding more pressure with each suction motion until he crumpled the sheets uncontrollably and did not let go anymore. She slipped the tip out of her mouth licking it thoroughly, sinking down on him, tracing the pulsating veins in his cock with the tip of her tongue, until she reached the base where she sucked in gently on the dark skin.

His hand caught the back of her head and pulled her up without warning, placing her on top of him and in her confusion she looked at him and into his eyes; and his eyes were burning. She couldn't go back and when she realized her mistake it was too late. She rushed to get out of the bed, but Khal caught her legs before she went any further, pinning her back on top of his body. She trembled slightly, bowing, with her forehead stuck to his chest asking for silent forgiveness. Khal went up forcing her to sit in his lap and look him in the eyes, but she wouldn't. His fingers clenched on her chin applying pressure, hurting her until she gasped for air and looked at him with tears in her eyes. She had never looked into the Khalasar's eyes before and now she was frightened. His hand slid in between their bodies to find his cock and place it inside her; one thrust and he went deep inside her, pushing down on her hips until their skin met. Her eyes rolled in her head, but his grip in her hair forced her eyes to connect with his again. His lips came close to hers and he groaned a whisper commanding her.

"Move." His hands rubbed down her back, drawing menacing lines on her hips until he captured her feeble knees in his large hands, pulling them closer to his ribs as she rode him, with him stuck deep inside her. Khal fell back in the sheets, holding her prisoner on top of him. "Move, I said." But she hesitated, caught up in his predator eyes and the Khal brought his hips up lifting her slightly off the mattress and she felt him slide so deep inside she gasped for air. She looked feverishly for something to grab onto and keep her balance and he caught her bringing her palms on his chest. Her fingernails dug painfully in his skin as he hit inside her one more time, slow and calculated. He imposed the rhythm and she bounced back up and down, riding his cock following his tempo. He locked her eyes with hers and drawing her closer to him with each thrust down on his hips until her breasts rubbed against his chest and an immense pleasure struck her brain, sending a rush of blood in her pale cheeks. She inhaled forcefully, her eyes caught on fire, stinging from the effort to keep them open staring into his; and he didn't let go. Her movements on top of him became erratic; she could no longer stand being so close to him. She pulled away from his chest, throwing her long hair back and he observed the spectacle of her breasts moving in circles the same way her hips circled his cock, all the way from the tip to the base, in a swirling motion that was bringing him close to his climax. She let a small cry escape her mouth and the rhythm of her hips slowed down as her mind worried for the outcome of her outburst.

Khal growled in response and in a flash brought her back down on him, holding tight to her body. Her palms buried on the pillows next to his head and her face molded against his shoulder. His hands grabbed on her hips, keeping them still for him to possess her roughly. Her body shuddered under his mad thrust and she cried in his ear stirring him more. He separated her knees further, letting her fall onto him deeper and he went on striking inside her with unyielding lust and hunger, crushing her body against his. She grabbed on the pillows, plucking on them, trying to break away from his fierce grip, but he took hold of her body again, pinning her to his chest with one arm while with the other continued holding her hips in place for him to enter her at a pace she couldn't take anymore.

She cried collapsing against him and he rolled them both over, coming on top and before she couldn't even catch her breath he had spread her legs wide open fitting himself between them. He found her core, slippery and swollen from their rough sex and slowly parted her lips, enjoying the way his cock disappeared inside her. She arched on the covers as he went all the way in until their hips came together. She felt him pulsate in her womb and for a moment her eyes met his again and her heart sank lower in her chest with how he shadowed her, standing tall against the rising sun. His broad shoulders kept the light away from her sweaty body and she couldn't see the details of his face anymore. He bent down and sneaked his hands under her knees bringer her up, completely exposed to his touch. Gravitation changed and her weight now fell to her shoulder blades when he lifted her behind off the mattress to meet him; she was swept away by the strength of those muscles coiling around her legs and the control in each of his thrusts. He parted his legs more coming lower on the bed while pulling her closer; his hands cupped her hips so completely she felt small in his presence. His eyes torched her skin and the pleasure of him possessing her so openly seared through her skin and she disobeyed her master with a hoarse groan of pleasure. Her head deepened in the pillows, and Khal took her offer of submission by riding her so hard it hurt her breasts bouncing too fast from his thrusts. There was nothing else other than the sound of her choked breath and the loud slapping of their skins and Khal grabbed harder on her hips with her body sliding away from his grip, sweaty and exhausted. Her hands slipped on the sheets unable to cling on them; Khal hit inside her at a lower angle and she coiled with the pleasure surging from her womb. Khal felt it, felt her hips in his hands moving at a new rhythm, faster, more eager and incoherent and he drew nearer to his end as well. He allowed her to push herself onto him, battling her hips with each move, deeper and deeper until she screamed, eyes wide open, falling on the pillows. Khal saw her climax and pressed his thumb against her clit to prolong the electrifying sensation and she squirmed underneath him. Her hips circled on his hips one last time, rubbing against his finger and her inner pulsation triggered his and he screeched his teeth filling her with his warm flow.

He rested his body back, catching his breath looking at her lying impotently and withered on the covers. He got out of bed slowly going on the terrace. The sun shone bright hurting his eyes at first. His nostrils filled with the salty air of the Dothraki sea soothed his senses and soon his breathing calmed. He rested his palms against the railing, looking at his dominion, and as the sweat on his body dried, his thoughts faded into the warm breeze. He saw the Council members walk down the alleys of his garden and he knew the time had come to face a decision. He turned around and saw the girl putting her shawl on clumsily. She did not inspire him. Very few things did lately.

**W W W W W W W**

The forest was steaming with the heavy dew and the mists rising into the burning afternoon sun. The fresh air did her good and she took in a mouth full, letting it fill her lungs all the way. Her temple still pulsated and the sutures on her eyebrow hurt when she frowned, sheltering her eyes from the bleach white sun rays. She counted the cracks in the rough skin of her palms. The back of her hands didn't look much better either. She stretched her shoulders and it felt as if she had been in bed for longer than a few days. Her bones crepitated as she pulled on them to flex the numb joints. A knock on the door.

"My Lady." Jorah looked at her profile in the light as she stood with her back against the window, so slender and fragile.

"Sir Jorah…" She approached him and he inspected her bruised eye. The swelling was gone but her skin was still stained with a sick mixture of purple, blue and yellow that was too big for such a small and tender face.

"It's healing. It will take a while." His smile reassured her and she thanked him, bowing her eyes in gratitude.

"Do I look impressive?"

"Fierce, if I can say so myself!"

She giggled with his amusing encouragement, but her face went dark soon after, remembering how she got the bruise in the first place.

"How many have we lost?"

Jorah sighed and passed her by to look outside the window.

"Too many for such a small populace." He turned around to face her but she remained with her back at him thinking about the loss. "If Alchantar returns, we don't stand a chance in a second confrontation."

"This is not your war my Lord."

"Alchantar is a threat to all of us. If we don't stop him here, someone else will; somewhere else."

"There are other tribe leaders out there who want what he wants. The string of evil people never ends. Sometimes I feel deserted, with no allies, no friends. Just us against…" she choked not finding the words to explain herself. "… against…" she turned around abruptly, looking Jorah in the eyes. "I am forsaken and cannot help my people anymore!" She sat on the edge of the bed burying her face in the cup of her palms. "Joarh, they know of my origin and my origin is a threat to my people! If Alchantar finds out…"

"And he will." His voice was calm but it didn't help appease the desperation on her face when hearing him confirm her greatest fears. She shook her head, standing up to pace back and forth through the little room.

"Look at me Jorah! I am not a leader! I cannot sacrifice my people for something that I am not!"

"You cannot escape who you are! What you see as your doom, is perhaps your salvation." Jorah placed his hands on her shoulders preventing her from her walking agitated across the room. "Come with me to Pentos, Leora. Sit with me before the council; convince them that you are the leader they need!"

"I am _not_ a leader! I don't _want_ to be a leader! I just want to be left alone so I can live my life in peace, love and die! Am I asking for too much?" she almost cried her anger in his face but it didn't move him; he kept his eyes locked with hers, sharing his inner peace until her shoulders finally loosened up.

"Leora, we cannot choose our parents but we still have to honor them, no matter who they were. And you must honor your father. And your mother's death the moment she gave life to you! She could've given up while you were still growing in her womb. But against all the threats and the pressure she endured and brought you into this world!" Jorah let go to pick up her dress from the chair. He placed it gently in her hands, holding onto them firmly for a moment. "And your parents, who raised you since birth…" Leora lowered her regard; she looked at their hands united and she strengthened her hold, remembering her adoptive parents so vividly. "They were proud of you and would want you to be who you were meant to be." She blinked trying to chase away the tears clouding her vision but his eyes upon her weighed heavily on her emotions. A tear escaped her control and ran down the contuse cheek. "So many have sacrificed for you to be here. Take the responsibility of their sacrifice and do what you must. That peace you yearn for has to be won. I wish you didn't have to fight for it; I wish none of us had to. But the times are such that it cannot be any other way."

Leora nodded and broke away from their hold to wipe the tear off. She crumpled the dress in her hands, sniffing like a child who had just been admonished.

"I understand what you say. I really do." She faced him and her watery eyes were brighter against the light. "But I can't bring myself to take on such an immense responsibility. The Targaryens are a nation so strong; a labyrinth of myths and beliefs, I could never understand their culture and traditions. I can barely defend a small village, let alone a kingdom!" She paused, pouting. Her eyebrow soared when she frowned fighting the light to look in his eyes again. "I will come with you to Pentos, but not to take the throne. I will talk to Daenerys and convince her to take _her_ rightful place on the throne of the Targaryens, as it should've happened when her brother died."

"Your brother as well."

"I never knew that man."

"You had never known Daenerys either." Jorah stepped towards the door. He opened it slowly, keeping his head down, in silence. "Daenerys is not who she used to be. She suffers and the pain has clouded her judgment." He turned his head around to look at her and she dealt with his demanding eyes without fretting. "Neither of your siblings have ever had the backbone or wisdom you have at this young age. Maybe the threads of life have been woven so that your destiny trails back to this moment; right here, right now. Talk to Daenerys if you must, but think back at your life before deciding what to do. We leave in two days."

The door closed behind him and Leora stared at the empty space. She took a few hesitant steps back, collapsing on the bed holding the dress to her chest. She felt exhausted with just the thought of leaving; she was confused and tears pooled in her eyes again. _I wish I did not exist for this to be simpler…_ Silence. Silence in her head and silence outside her window. Her chest went up and down, sign that she was breathing but other than that, she was frozen, staring at the white ceiling. _Cedric will know what to do!_ She got up and left the room, leaving the dress behind, thrown randomly on the bed.

**W W W W W W W**

The Khalasar sat in his throne, his head lowered between the shoulders, his elbows resting on the massive wooden arms. He had closed his eyes listening carefully at the debate among his councilors. The elders of the Dothraki clan had gathered to decide Alchantar Wolof's proposal. And despite his initial belief they seemed to agree to it. He was confused; his gut told him it was wrong accepting an offer so mischievous from a man who cared little for his people and used it as a tool to satisfy his cravings for power. Men like him always retaliated even against those who once had been his allies and he dreaded fraternizing with the devil for what the council believed to be a greater good.

"The Wolof speaks in truth. The taxes of the Targaryens have come to offend even the wealthiest of tribes, who can afford trading so far from home. And now, they have come to add their tolls on top of the prices the Northerners agreed for the goods they deliver to us." The councilor pointed with his bony finger at the righteousness of Alchantar's demand.

"If we gained control over the Targaryen kingdom we could negotiate the new rules for trading. Our Lord's coffer would increase in wealth beyond our imagination!" voiced out another elder, looking at their chieftain who had been silent throughout the entire gathering.

"My Lord?"

"What say then, do I have in this matter? It seems you have already decided." Khal's voice silenced the room with his deep vibe and strong sound. "I have always respected and followed the guidance of this council." He got up walking slowly around the room, looking at each councilor in turn as they sat wrapped in their elegant clothes, embroidered with gold and gems. They were all well over 70 and most of them had lost track of time and the reality outside the walls that protected them and their wealth. Khal wasn't so sure anymore that they were giving him proper advice. But his duty was to obey, like his father did before him, the way custom demanded of him. Rebelling now, breaking more than two hundred years worth of royal tradition was not suited for a ruler so fit and undaunted like him. He had earned everything he owned and the name of his hoard was known to the four winds because he had always ruled by these laws that now troubled him. But this did not feel right. "I have never disobeyed your orders; I have always gone where you sent me and brought back the heads of our enemies for our tribe to be safe and well fed. But they were the heads of enemies. The Targaryens are not the enemy." The council watched him carefully; the Khalasar had to obey them but he was their ruler and in a fit of rage, he could have them all killed. The Mighty Powers gave him that right if he ever reached the conclusion that they were no longer useful to him and he proved their unworthiness. Khal Drogo was the first ruler in many years who had led their armies fiercely into battle, respected his elders and carved the name of the Dothraki tribe into the stone roads of many larger stronger kingdoms. But in truth, he had never preyed upon the weak; he never struck the innocent and never went seeking vengeance. And the motives behind Alchantar Wolof's request were unclear so he was entitled to doubt his intentions.

"My Khalasar." His oldest council member, Lord Athons, stood up shakily, helped by his apprentice and Khal came before him holding his hand out for more support. The old man circled his skinny fingers around his strong arm and stepped down slowly, taking his time. He looked up to the Khalasar and smiled; his eyes bright under the thick grey eyebrows, his wrinkles deeper than he remembered them. "My Khalasar, you have turned into a formidable force and I stand before you to praise the Powers for having granted us their might through such a healthy strong body and mind, through you, Khal Drogo, chieftain and leader of the Dothraki horsemen! We value and respect your actions and we know you would never go against the decision of this council. And indeed, you are right to be suspicious of the Wolof's intentions. Yet we must consider that if we do not offer our help in this alliance, others might and this war will take place, with or without us. But we'd rather be there when the fire starts so we keep it under control than gather the ashes and remains of whatever is left from Alchantar's deceit."

"If he becomes our ally we cannot control him, for we shall fight as equals. And the Targaryens can be reasoned with. We must reason with them first than send my men to their death without even trying."

Lord Athons nodded and his balance was damaged by this insignificant movement. Khal caught his arms and held him firmly in place. The much shorter, skinnier old man looked up into the young man's eyes with the same smile warming his face.

"Not many know you like I do my Khalasar. And not many know that you look for peace more than you look for war. Not with the way you battle…" his voice was whispered and secretive and Khal grinned, keeping his sight low, proud of being a barbarian on the battle field.

"I have my ways…"

"So we have seen."

"What would you have me do, Lord Athons?" he helped the councilor go back to his seat, and then turned towards the elders. "It's the first time since I took my father's throne that I doubt this council's decision." A wave of murmur swept through the room; even the soldiers standing guard at the doors, fretted with what they had heard, looking at each other, worried. "I know the Targaryens have raised the taxes and collect more than they should on goods that don't even belong to them. But we shouldn't be complaining. We are one of the fortunate ones, who can afford trading with them. Think at the Dakelhs! Think at the Tekaras! They cannot trade and must make a harsh living out of what they can. And Alchantar takes advantage of it, by attacking their weakened walls, to take away even the little they have! And this is the man you want to ally with? I wouldn't even trust him to hold my sword, less fight back to back with him!"

"You speak the truth, Khal. But at times we must compromise and seek darker ways if we must help ourselves and the others. What if we lost out wealth tomorrow? What then? We cannot even make the living the Tekaras do, for we live in a barren rocky country, where nothing grows! At least they have the land and the forest, the meadows! Go to war, my Khalasar, to keep this trading matter from getting any worse and the poorer tribes will thank you! You could accomplish your father's dream and unite the four tribes!" Dacris, the nobleman who addressed him, was younger than all the other members, and probably the most reasonable one. Khal had to admit he made sense and he went back to sit on his throne, thoughtful, yet still resentful at the idea.

"The Wolofs will never unite. Not under a foreign rule."

"Alchantar won't have much of a say in the matter when it will all be over."

"The tribes have been apart for as long as we can remember. Maybe some things should be left the way they are." Khal looked at Dacris and he bowed, admitting to his words.

"Khalasar, consider the Wolof's proposal. If he becomes hard to contain, we can always dispose of him." And there was silence in the room. Never had this royal chamber heard of treason and deceit of an ally. But it was on everyone's mind so no one voiced any reasons against it.

"I shall not turn my back on an ally, the same way I never turned my back on an enemy, if they have were worthy of my respect! What you give is what you get. The Khalasar has spoken!" So all conversation on making Alchantar disappear if he strayed from the plan was for ever closed, for the Khalasar had spoken and not even the council could cross that line. "I will do as you decide, but I wish no further interference of the council in this matter from now on." His eyes moved from one face to another until he circled around the room waiting for them to decide. "Agreed?"

Lord Athons raised his hand offering tribute to the Khalasar. The council had agreed.

**W W W W W W W**

The curtain moved with the wind, allowing faint rays of light reach her naked body wrapped in the bed sheets. Cedric stood against the door, arms crossed; he narrowed his eyes, undecided but still he couldn't take a step closer. He had been staring at her for a short while with the same eerie feeling he had when he first held her. He feared that if he came too near, he would want to see more. His eyes flamed with anger; anger for acting foolishly. He moved away from the door stepping purposefully hard on the wooden floor, as if he wanted her to wake up and see him in control of the situation; of himself. But she didn't even flinch. His audacity diminished the closer he got to her bed until it died out completely the moment his eyes set on her hair, draping the pillow and he wanted to gather a hand full of the silky strands and feel its texture. His jaw blocked with the same anger as before, thinking he had been around for too long to experience such childishness now, in his forties. She was probably half his age. He blinked confused that he even cared how old she was. His forehead hurt with how hard he was frowning and he tried to loosen up and take control of his reactions and thoughts.

She moaned and turned in bed, slowly, awkwardly, one movement at a time as if everything in her body hurt and he observed her barely breathing. Her skin was milky white, so thin and so magical he could see the blue veins underneath whenever she stretched her neck and without realizing he sat down on the bed side, looking at her. His hand reached for her collar bone, resting his fingertips in the crook of her neck, feeling the pulse. Warm. Her heartbeat seemed to match his, traveling from his fingertips into his chest to match his heart rhythm. She moved again exposing her neck more and he caressed the back of the ear, following the bruises branding her skin like the bluish petals of a torn flower. He leaned closer startled with the realization of what those markings were and his lips parted not knowing what else she had gone through.

Nersin moaned again in her troubled sleep and kicked her feet under the covers. Her eyes flickered behind the closed eyelids and she fought the air around her, agitating her hands as if she were defending herself against an invisible enemy. Cedric watched the display of terror on her bruised face and caught her arms, squeezing gently to calm her erratic movements. She was tense and still pulled on his arms feverishly, reliving the ordeal she had been through, so hard she almost got up from the bed, and Cedric bent over more to keep her from hurting herself in this senseless struggle. She groaned, whimpering at the same time and he tangled his fingers with hers, placing both their hands on the sides of her head, for her to rest. She breathed nervously, tilting her head left to right, incoherently. Cedric pressed his forehead against hers in an attempt to keep her head from swinging so violently and she moaned again, impotent, telling him she was trapped. A tear rolled down from under her shivering eyelids and into her hair and he buried his nose in the corner of her eye, swiping it clean. His cheek on hers, his eyes closed, breathing calmly; their hands together and nothing else but the silent afternoon. Little by little she stopped squirming under his hold; the pain ceased torturing her memories and senses. Slumberous, she let her head fall heavy on the side, matching her face with his, bringing two halves together to form one face. And Cedric opened his eyes, realizing he was squeezing too hard on her hands; she was stirring feelings and emotions in him he thought he only felt for Leora. He put some distance in between his mouth and hers and as he stared at the broken chapped lips, he smiled uncertain of what was to come. If she caused him so much damage when asleep, what would happen when she'd open her eyes and look at him? He let go getting up, trying to make sense of his thoughts. Behind him the door opened.

"Cedric?" He didn't turn around even though he recognized the voice. "Cedric?"

Leora came close to the bed. She released a sigh when looking at Nersin.

"Poor girl!" She tucked the covers around her legs, making sure she was comfortable and fast asleep. "Did she wake up at all?"

Cedric shook his head unable to respond. His lips were locked, his mind was numb.

"I thought that by now you had grown into a harsher man, my Cedric. Yet I see the sight of a wounded soul is still marking you. As it does with all of us." She laid her hand softly on his shoulder, smiling. "Come! I need your advice. She needs to rest now and she will tell us her story tomorrow."

Cedric nodded and let himself be taken out of the room. He hadn't even noticed that the woman he had been craving for years was holding his hand dressed in nothing else but her night gown.

**W W W W W W W**

A new day was born out of the mists of the night and the sun shook off the last remains of its bloody struggle with the morning twilight. But he felt tired with so little sleep, little food and too much trouble on his mind. Jorah leaned against the window frame looking hollow inside. His face twitched with the itching crawling up his throat and he barely had the time to cover his mouth that a new convolution of bitter coughing took his breath away. He bent under the force of the inner attack, gripping on the sill with all his might fearing his knees would fail him. An arm circled around his waist supporting his weight as he barked his lungs out one more time.

"You need more ale, my friend!" Ortezza waited for him to gain enough strength to stand on his own, then he let go gently, helping him to sit down and Jorah felt relieved with taking his weight off the weakened feet.

"Maybe it's time for tea."

"I have what you need. I have a stash of hop tea, brewer's malt tea some cider tea! I will share my riches with you!" the archer patted his round belly in satisfaction.

"You live your life dangerously Ortezza."

"You should have told me that before I turned 15." Ortezza pulled a chair beside Jorah, taking his little bottle out to take a sip. "That's when they sent me to war for the first time. I thought I'd die young anyway, so why waste time with a healthy life!" He took another sip, munching happily; he enjoyed the bitter taste of ale and he never got tired of it.

"Well, it seems you were wrong, for you are very much alive."

"And in bad health." He grinned like a guilty child, rubbing the metal of the tin bottle, thinking if things could have been different.

"I might go before you." An ironic smile sprang in the corner of Jorah's thin lips, looking emptily at the wooden floor. Ortezza put the bottle in his hands with a comforting smile.

"Here! Make it worthwhile!" The nobleman looked at the bottle, weighing the chances of the ale making him sicker. He took the bottle hesitantly and placed it on his lips. The stinging smell revived his senses and he closed his eyes letting the golden liquid slide down his throat. Two gulps and his sore throat blistered with the irritation from the rough coughing. He choked a bit on the last sip and gave the bottle back to Ortezza without a word.

"Now what?" he wiped his mouth and looked at Ortezza happy to have shared his medicine with him.

"Now we go to die. Or if you want to wait…?"

"Nah…" Jorah shook his head in defeat, but he wasn't about to go down easily in this fight. "Let's go die!"

Ortezza laughed from the heart, patting him so sturdily on the shoulder he almost caused a new wave of retaliation from the old man's sick lungs. The door opened and Cedric stepped inside followed by Leora and it was good seeing her wear a dress again. Too many times lately had she worn an armor and only lived among her men. Womanhood suited her and Ortezza enjoyed seeing the woman in her take over. Jorah wanted to get up but Ortezza's hand on his shoulder lay heavy preventing him from moving; a glance from the archer and he fell back in the chair with a sigh. Sitting now perhaps, was better.

"I am sorry I have summoned you here so early in the morning. We all need the rest, but resting is difficult knowing what lies ahead." Leora sat on a bench next to the table while Cedric took a chair coming closer to them. He looked silently at the three people around him and in his heart he knew it was going to be hard; a man with a brilliant aim, good sight but a lust for ale which would soon bring him to his demise; an old nobleman, not of these lands, but with interests in their people and who wanted to turn the wheels of fate before his time caught up with him. And her; the woman he had cared for since she had been a child, that he had witnessed grow into a loving, candid person and upon whom he had to force the responsibilities of a life she did not want and could not envisage. Him. A man who knew nothing else other than these lands, who had dedicated his life to the small cause of his people and who was now confused with his mission. Him. Cedric Gaëlle, general in the small Tekara army, an empty vessel waiting to be filled with more than the desire to live and do good.

"Have we any news on the movements of Alchantar's armies?"

Cedric shook his head and the dirty blonde strands shadowed even more the dark blue in his eyes. Leora looked at him and she felt incapacitated; she wished she had something to say, something to make their grim faces brighter, but her lips were sealed and her throat pounded with the deep pulse of her heart.

"I'll get my men ready. Better think of a plan. Alchantar never hides behind trees; he likes it for people to know it was him doing the nasty work." Ortezza put the bottle back, with a serious mimic, already thinking of his next strategy of defense.

"There will be no confrontation this time." Jorah's voice had not gained its former strength yet but he was loud enough to attract their attention.

"What do you mean?" Cedric looked in his eyes and Jorah slipped away from his gaze for a moment, avoiding the truth; if just for a bit.

"If Alchantar attacks again, which he will, we are doomed."

"Ah!" Ortezza got up pushing the thought away with an ample movement of his arm. "Nonsense! We have been here before, we have done this before! And always stood our ground!"

"This is no longer just about you, general! It's about her as well!" And Leora startled when Jorah's finger pointed at her. She hated the sensation of being put again in the middle of the struggle. "Alchantar will find out what she is worth and _she_ is worth more than these lands! So he will come for her, not to take her prisoner, not to burn her house to the ground, but to kill her and prevent Pentos from having a new ruler! One that could falter with his plans!" Jorah sat back in the chair, pulling on his long vest, buying time to think before speaking again. "She must not be here when Alchantar arrives! A sacrifice must be made for a greater good!"

"I am _not_ a greater good!" she stood up abruptly, with her fingers curled tightly into a fist so strong it turned her knuckles white. "Why won't you let me be! I was not raised at the Targaryen court, I know nothing about them! I like my simple life, right here!" her eyes flamed with anger and the impotence of making herself understood.

"Don't be a coward Leora!" Jorah fixed her with his yellowish sickly looking eyes and she crossed the line into uncontrollable rage. She groaned out loud and kicked the bench down with her foot, throwing it into a corner and the sound echoed through the empty room causing them to startle. "You do not have a choice!"

"I am _free!_"

"Who are your people Leora?"

"The Tekaras!" and the words fell like crumbles out of her mouth after she grinded them between her teeth.

"If you want your people to be free then you must take the throne in Pentos, because I tell you now, that gate out there will not hold another attack!" Jorah stood up releasing the vest to point adamantly towards the village gate. "You will be free! But no one else will! And that is just selfish!" It was hurting him to boil inside this much so he collapsed back in the chair, catching his breath. "We wall want to go back to our simple lives, but we can't! You can either choose to live in a lie and wait to die or face death and fight for your life!"

"And what if I die?" Leora's voice died out and her outburst of fury extinguished as fast as it had surged, and she collapsed on the floor, hiding her face away in her palms. Her shoulders shuddered from crying, but she choked the sobs in the cup of her palms. When she looked up, Cedric bounced back a little with the image of her chestnut eyes moist with tears. He went and picked her up from the floor, hugging her tight.

"We won't let you die." His voice was soothing and she pressed her forehead against his collar bone, with a sigh. Cedric waited for the tremble in her body to fade away, and then looked her in the eyes. "I won't let you die. But Sir Mormont is right. If you stay, we will all perish. If you go, we at least have a chance. Remember what I told you yesterday. No distance will ever break us apart. It's just for now and soon the skies will clear, but you must have faith."

"Come with me. Come with me, please." But Cedric shook his head with a faint smile.

"Someone has to stay behind and guard the village until you fulfill your mission in Pentos. Jorah will go with you. He knows the place and the people; you will be safe with him."

Ortezza paced back and forth realizing the gravity of the situation and so he kept silent, which rarely ever happened.

"I still think –"

The door opened with a squeak and Nersin stepped inside in her night gown, torn and hanging down her naked shoulders. Her eyes were swollen from too much sleep, her face was pale, her eyes alone shone vividly and Cedric remained hypnotized looking into them. His arms fell aloof from Leora's waist and he took a step back, as if he was getting ready to confront a wild beast. His eyes cautious, yet intrigued, his heart beat slow, but deep. She took a few more hesitant steps inside and Cedric couldn't help notice her toes sticking out from under the long dress, as she walked barefoot across the room approaching them. Ortezza had stopped moving and looked at her bluntly as if she was a ghost from the times of old. She came to a halt, abruptly and her hair embraced her shoulders as if pushed forward brutally by an invisible force. Her eyes were digging into Cedric's, even though her mind was aware of everyone else's presence and it made her tense and weary. Her lips parted and it was difficult separating them for they were dry and chapped. Her jaw fell heavy and the skin stretched hurting with the healing bruises; it felt as if she hadn't used her mouth to speak in a while.

"I am Nersin…" and Cedric's heart startled with the sound of her voice, barely perceptible, yet so clear. "I bring news." Her head span for a moment and Cedric saw it in her eyes; before that second past and she collapsed, he caught her laying her on the floor, protected inside the circle of his arms. Her eyes rolled in her head for a moment and she had to close them to find the strength to control the infirmity in her body, feeding on her remaining strength. His palm cupped the back of her head bringing her body up for a more comfortable position. Nersin's attention shifted to him immediately and through the fog of her still unclear vision she looked at him for the first time, with a certainty in her heart that her body described to her as being familiar. She did not remember him, yet she knew him somehow and her eyes searched deep within his for that memory of them that made him so acceptable to her. His lips parted and her eyes widened with the effort of taking within the whole image of his face as he spoke to her.

"What news?" And as in a dream, his voice fell in soft waves on her painful skin and she closed her eyes to welcome this unexpected treatment to her wounds, beyond the skin. "Nersin?..." The green irisis surfaced again from under the eyelids and Cedric inhaled, pleased with her eyes on him and her weight back in his arms. She felt warm. Just like yesterday in bed. She struggled her arm around his neck to help bring her body up, enough for her to be able to look at the small crowd around her. Leora ran to bring the bench back but Cedric ignored it, locking his arms around Nersin and she was thankful for his support. Ortezza sat down before her, next to Jorah and Leora kneeled at their side waiting for her to speak. Nersin leaned back against Cedric's shoulder, sheltered by his embrace.

"I come from Karok." Jorah shook slightly when hearing about Alchantar Wolof's capital. A thousand thoughts of treason and mischief crossed his mind and he leaned forward more to inspect her innocent features. "My father owns a tavern in Karok. A man came there a few days ago, a man I have never seen before. Tall and skinny, and dressed in black. Looked like a snake, with shifting eyes and traitorous gaze. A rough man. His name was Kanza." She breathed feeling already tired; she wished she had the strength to say more, faster, but her body disobeyed her. "He was looking for Alchantar Wolof. But Alchantar had already left."

"How do you know all this?" Jorah's voice sounded suspicious and intrigued. Tidings like this did not just fall out of the sky in a forsaken tavern in the middle of Karok. Not for free…

"I will tell you, what I told him" but her voice faded away with the effort, being visibly irritated by the mistrust in the old man's eyes. "Karok holds no secrets. Especially the taverns in Karok. Men speak freely after a few pints of ale…" Ortezza pulled back with a sneer, straightening his back as if her words did not affect him.

"What did he want with Alchantar?" Jorah persisted with his string of questions and Ortezza's small time of being offended ended with a new born curiosity.

"He wanted to give him a letter. And tell him about a woman; from here." They all silenced and their faces rippled with expectation and a gloomy prophetical feeling. "He said she would change Alchantar's life and at first I thought he meant marriage."

"But it wasn't marriage, was it?" Cedric's voice had come down a note and Nersin thought she was the only one to hear him.

"He means to kill her." A few steps away Leora shivered as if a gust of cold air had hit her in the back coming through the open window. Ortezza's shoulders lowered with sadness; his hand reached for the bottle in his pocket but he stopped midway. He did not thirst for ale now; his hand fell limp in his lap, his eyes set on the floor. Jorah spoke hesitantly and Leora could hear the air stumbling through his nose, as he tried to keep his composure.

"Do you know the girl's name? Did he say –"

"Leora." She was so fast and so swift, Jorah appeared to not understand. Or maybe he did not want to understand. He looked at her and she said it again, this time clear and vocal.

"Leora." The young woman next to her bent with her forehead on her knees, palms nailed on the floor. Nersin looked at her, confused, then looked at Cedric. He was looking at the young woman. Nersin squeezed on his arm a little and his eyes came down meeting hers and he smiled, comforting and in pain.

"That is Leora." Nersin trembled suddenly as if stung powerfully, but Cedric caught her, pulling her back in his arms. "Let her."

Leora heard him and rose from the floor with red swollen eyes, yet the truth of her reality had never seemed clearer. Jorah looked at her and she met his gaze obediently.

"Now you understand?"

"You said Alchantar wasn't there, so that means Kanza did not meet with him." Cedric said it fast as if his hopes were renewed by this finding.

"When I left, he hadn't. But maybe he did by now. I am not sure. Alchantar had gone to see the Dothraki when Kanza came."

"What?" Jorah's voice sounded so appalled almost terrified and they all looked at him. "You said Dothraki?"

"Khal Drogo." Ortezza rubbed his hands against the fat cheeks, pushing his palms into the eye sockets. "Cursed rascal and barren womb of the mother that gave birth to you, you scum of the earth, devil and miscreant that you breath the same air I do! I will kill you with my two hands!"

"Ortezza! Contain yourself!" Cedric put an end to the breathless endless line of cursing coming out his archer's mouth.

"That sheep merchant with balls the size of a peanut that they call a King in Karok, is dead!"

"Ortezza! Shut it I say!" Cedric almost got up, but Nersin's weight in his lap, held him in place. He pulled harder on her body to keep her close because she fretted and wanted to get up. Jorah came before them and helped Nersin on her feet and Cedric felt cold without her in his arms. He followed her, helping Leora up as well. Ortezza finally stopped pacing and came to join the circle.

"Listen to me now. There is no time to waste. Alchantar no longer has right of way. If he spoke to Khal Drogo is because he wants his help to bring us down. Chances are that he did not find out about Leora yet so that will buy us enough time to take her to Pentos as planned." He stopped suddenly, then looked Cedric in the eyes. "I fear that you will have to fight this war and face Drogo on your own until we come back with the Targaryen armies."

"That is impossible. We will never make it." Ortezza shook his head unhappy with the new plan.

"We don't have to make it general. We need to stall and give Leora enough time to do her bidding and regain her throne." Cedric was calm and firm and Ortezza liked the challenge.

"A decoy." Cedric smiled dauntingly and Ortezza pocked him in the shoulder. "You weren't truly planning to die of old age, did you my friend?"

Jorah pulled Leora to the side, to speak to her about what was to come. Nersin observed them quietly. Then, as if struck by lightning she turned around grabbing Cedric by the arms with everything she had.

"Dene! Where is Dene?" She crawled up his body to pierce into his eyes demanding for answers. _How could I forget about him?_ Tears fell from her eyes, angered with being a bad sister. "Where is he? Where is he?"

Cedric fought her shortly, immobilizing her in a spit, and she succumbed, dropping to his chest with a groan. He held her tight, still recovering from the unexpected outburst.

"He is safe. Sleeping." She looked up at him and scorched his eyes to make sure she burnt away any possible lie that might keep her brother away from her. "I shared a meal with him this morning and now he rests."

"Take me to him!"

"Not yet!" Jorah came before them with Leora following behind.

"We must prepare. Cedric you stay behind with Ortezza and prepare however best you can for when Khal arrives. Or Alchantar." The two men nodded, and the determination in their eyes put Jorah at ease with at least this matter. "Leora and I will leave in the morning and no one must know." He turned to look at Nersin then spoke to the generals. "In truth, for the people in the village, for the men up on the walls, for the merchants in the square – she will have never left."

"Impossible!" Cedric asked unsure of Jorah's plan.

"She will take Leora's place and lead Khal to believe that she is still here. He must not suspect, not even for a moment that she has left this place."

"But how? They don't look alike!" Ortezza looked puzzled.

"The Khalasar doesn't know how Leora looks."

"But Alchantar does and he will be with him." Cedric counter attacked Jorah's argument and Ortezza felt caught in the middle, looking left and right at the two opponents.

"Not if Leora goes back to being the man behind the mask."

Silence set in the room, above their heads and into their hearts.

"I will get her ready." Cedric bowed, accepting the new twist in the plan.

"Does anyone ask me whether I want to take her place?" Nersin was slowly turning back into the witty cautious girl she had always been and she hated being forced to be someone she did not want to be. She had just fled from home to avoid such a missery.

"I have a feeling that you did not come here by accident." Jorah said, looking at her, half daring, half indulgent to her plea. "You may have not known what the consequences would be, but surely you were seeking for something. Or maybe you were fleeing from someone. Karok is a long way from here and I think there is more to your good intentions then you let us know."

Nersin fell a step back. She felt cornered, feeling guilty for not being entirely truthful about her arrival to their village.

"Don't be afraid." Cedric's voice pulled her back to reality but she still didn't come closer. "The news you brought with you will change the lives of many. And we are grateful to you."

"He is right." And she pointed at Jorah with a trembling hand. "I have not been entirely truthful with you. I fled home thinking that what I have learnt will gain my freedom, for me and my brother, away from Karok."

"Who are you fleeing from girl?" Jorah asked fearing it might be someone who learnt of her knowledge about the war.

"My father." Jorah felt relieved. In her innocent struggle to flee her father she had most likely changed the world.

"Nersin." And the eyes of the two young women met for the first time, connecting candidly. "No one is safe anymore. But if you wish to stay, this can be your home. Only that we must defend it."

"Against my own people…"

"Alchantar is not part of your people, know that from me!" said Jorah getting ready to leave the room. "He would kill you, your brother and us all together, just to get what he wants." Cedric looked at Nersin, and somehow stood in expectation. He was coming around, realizing he would be left behind with an obese general and a stranger who played with his senses even in her sleep. Confusion and mistrust washed through him and he still didn't know which way to go about this girl. He shook his head trying to keep at bay these random thoughts. The door opened slowly and Jorah turned to look at the new comer one last time. "So, will you help us?"

**Note from the author**

**Nola Swan **– well, needn't worry baby, one Cdric coming right up!

**Hina Lover** – what can I say. A long lasting reviewer since Death is just another beginning! Thanks so much! Reviews are always good guidance and they give me ideas whether I am on the right track with both the characters and the story line. So keep up the good job and review when you have time! Muah!

**Nereza** – always good to see new people taking interest in my story. I am glad you enjoy it. I'll try to update as fast as I can! Do let me know more about the characters and how you perceive them because it helps improving them! I feel this story is about to become quite tangled Thanks!


	9. Chap 8  Light into the darkness

**Light into the darkness**

A creak in the darkness; short and unexpected. Behind the closed eyelids Nersin's eyes flickered spasmodically. In her chest the heart quieted down its rhythm, trying to hide in the obscurity of the room. Another creak, slow, long and purposeful and then it stopped. She turned her head around gently, but kept the eyes closed afraid to look at what was coming for her. It happened again and this time it went on for so long until the door knob hit against the wall behind it and her heart startled with the abrupt knock. A muscle twitched in her jaw and she clenched her eyes. Steps; heavy steps. One… two… three. Her eyes opened suddenly staring at the hand reaching for her from the darkness and she screamed with all her might. The sound resonated through the night and the vibrations of that loud echo forced the air around her to break into pieces which span and swirled, circling around her, lifting her up so easily as she were nothing more than a doll. She collapsed into an uncontrollable vortex, at such speed and strength she felt thrown around, with no direction, blinded by the blackness in the womb of the swirl. Awkwardly enough, a soft flow of wind caressed through her hair as if time had slowed down fighting the power of the tornado toying with her numb body. And then it all came to a halt, the pieces of the room glued back together and she found herself resting with her back against the window. Her hair settled back on her shoulders as if that gust of wind brushed it carefully, strand by strand laying it on her skin. And she heard the sound of her own breathing that she did not hear before; that and nothing else. The menacing hand was gone and she was grateful to be close to the window, enjoying the dim light of the bluish moon. It tainted her pale skin, making it ripple with the shadows of the night. She breathed again and her hair moved slightly off her shoulders, dropping long and heavy into the crevasse between her breasts. The wind came back and played with a few rebellious strands and she let it sooth her uneasiness. Her eyes kept starring into the dark. She looked down and couldn't even see her feet; she focused harder, but the moon light was only lit her face, dying into the crook of her neck were she lingered for a while longer, disappearing below her breasts. She sank her face into that pool of black beneath; it suffocated her, it pulled her down, making her dizzy. She retreated but something lay heavy on the top of her head, pressing her down as if it wanted to see her drowned into the night. She glimpsed up. A bluish face like hers emerged from above, nose first, then lips, arching into a merciless grin, then dark frowning eyebrows. Her father stared at her with a satisfied look on his face and she felt the force keeping her down pushing more and her knees were giving up. She tensed all the muscles in the neck trying to keep her head above the black pool awaiting for her just an inch away and the harder she tried, the closer her father's face came, growing bigger, to unimaginable proportions, his grin turning into a laughter. It was as if she had no arms, as if she had no body, only her head and inside it a mind that struggled with the fear of being killed. She fought back, she jolted, pulled and pushed but the hollow below clawed on her fiercely. Her neck cracked with the effort, her face plunged into the abyss below and she gasped for air. It felt warm, glowing, with little playful sparkles of pure white, flaming in orange golden lights like a fire starting to burn underneath her face. The pressure on her head was slowly fading, but she remained captivated by the globe of light growing before her eyes. She forgot about her father's evilness, about the murderous glow in his eyes. A drop of sweat slid down her eyebrow falling into that growing fire beneath her. It got hotter, it burnt her cheeks and she wanted to go back, but she was stuck. It was just her and the fire, and she stretched her neck as much as she could tilting her head in vain, to avoid the flames to reach her eyes. But they did and bit vengefully on her eyebrows, burning them. She heard the quick rasp sound of the hair being burnt and she screamed again, short and hoarse; and then she screamed again. Her eyes cried stung by the rising heat, her face had flamed to an incredibly painful blush and she opened her mouth searching for the pure cold air of the night that had left her. Her yell reverberated through the fire and as if scared away it got sucked back within itself as if pulled back into its ashes by an invisible hand. Her savior, the wind, rushed back to take her away from that limbo and she found herself floating on her back, carried away into the unknown. She closed her eyes and let the tears flow into her hair, cooling her burning heart. Her feet were warm and she gazed upon them; the same treacherous light, the chicanery of perdition was chasing after her and she flipped on her belly trying to swim in that sea of air and darkness to escape it. The soles of her feet were burning and she felt her flight was coming to an end and she dived head first to her doom. Her mouth filled with the air pushed through her lips as she fell and her chest hurt with the pain of the gravity no longer holding her.

The wind was gone; her hair dropped heavy on her back, her cheek smashed into a wall and she groaned with the pain. Her temple bruised; her eyes sore and dry from her flight, her collar bone pressed against the coldness of the wall. She cried. The hand was back, groping on the back of her neck, pushing her head steadily into the cold surface and she choked on her own breath. She looked back with her good eye and saw the flame still burning behind her, ghostly and silent. A shadow emerged from the fiery mists and she saw Kanza approach his face to hers with that malicious look in his eyes, alluring and dangerous. His lips parted and her heart shrank hearing the hissing of that snake coming closer to her ear. The tip of his tongue traced a long hot line from her jaw to the temple and she shut her eyes, shuddered by the disgust and the frustration of being so impotent against his intentions. His lips slid down leaving more wet marks on her cheek bone and to her it felt like slime. His mouth touched the corner of hers and she groaned, cried and fought at the same time. Bitter; bitterness in her mouth; bitterness in her soul.

And then she heard him breath loud and suddenly, like a stirred animal, his eyes opened wide, his focus shifting elsewhere. A deep grunt and he vanished in thin air taking the flames with him, as if they were never there. Only her sweaty crease and her flaming skin reminded her of his ordeal. The night wrapped her again in its soothing blanket, but she continued sobbing into the silence of the room, still embracing the wall Kanza had left her pinned to. She sensed movement behind her and her sobbing grew bigger, fearing a new plunge into the pits of hell. She focused her disturbed senses to feel the wind coming; it spoke to her about what was to come. But her hair remained stuck to her temples, damp and tangled; no breeze swept her shoulders, nothing made her loose balance anymore. Still, she felt that presence. She dared and glanced over her shoulder, pushing her eye so much into the corner that it hurt. Her heart skipped a beat and ceased as if it had gone silent for good. He stood there, tall and quiet, partially hidden by the night. Same bluish face, same deep watery features like hers, as if they were both resting on the bottom of the sea.

She turned around gently and for the first time in this nightmare she felt blood flowing through her veins, like a stream of light making her body luminescent, helping it emerge from the dark. It followed the lines of her body, in and out of her lavish shapes, as if it were a lantern waving a ramification of light threads building her body together in the darkness. From her shoulders, carving through to her breasts, drawing around her arms, shinning through the tip of her fingers, to then linger on her hips. She felt it slide down her long legs, sieving into the floor through her toes and her body shone in the murky obscurity, like a spec of light, a ghostly presence of fire. And his eyes watched that light of life flow through her body with eager eyes and the beauty of her body made him want to come closer and embrace it. But he remained motionless like a silent call and she couldn't resist it. Her hands came up through the stillness of the night, caressing down his strong arms. The air had gone dry all of a sudden, and her fiery aura fired up intensely. She looked back worried that the fire might come for her again. But it wasn't that fire; it was the fire lighting within her. She looked down her translucent body and saw her chest flaming with circles of fiery red and flakes of pure gold, swirling silently but passionately, like the belts of star dust spinning around planets from forgotten times. She was a body of light, growing incandescent, throwing shadows on his bluish features. They were two strangers coming from different worlds, fire and water, meant to never coexist. But there was more to his watery depth. His hair seemed to dissipate into thin air, like the wind, soft and unseen. His body rippled like the water of a pond, clear yet blurry and it soothed her inner fire, but the gust of wind, so mild and barely felt kept stirring the flaming circles inside her heart. Was he made of water? Was he made of wind? She stared at his face looking for the truth; his lips shivered ready to speak; they parted but remained silent. She grabbed onto those cold arms helping herself up his body to reach that spring of cold water that would sooth her inner fire. His mouth lowered onto hers, his lips quivered cold and fresh, touching her burning mouth and Nersin closed her eyes. Their mouths locked together, and he sucked on her lips gently, inhaling that hot breath out of her chest and into his watery throat, spreading her fire inside him. Her lips cooled down, caught in his soft grip; his teeth sank in her lower lip and she groaned digging her fingernails into his arms. His bluish color infected her, and soon the burning specters in her chest became a swirl of celestial blue sprinkled with stars as if the skies had traveled down on earth, settling in their hearts. They melted into each other and she gave in to the pleasure of being like him; being with him. His lips felt real, felt soft, made out of flesh, his rough hands brushed against her back with a touch that defied their transparent nature. She bit on his lower lip with a groan.

Cedric watched her twist in her sleep and the muffled grunt in her throat made him swallow in difficultly. She looked ill with a cold sweat, pale and agitated. He grabbed her tiny shoulders shaking her gently, hoping to bring her out of the nightmare. Her head fell back, her lips parted and Cedric almost fell back with the desire to mold his mouth on hers and fill that sweet abyss between her lips.

"Nersin…"

Beyond the realm of reality and into her dream, Nersin heard her name but his lips were on hers and she kissed him harder, trying to hold the sound of her name spoken by his voice within herself for safe keeping. He pushed away taking her by the shoulders and their transparent bodies shivered with the sudden movement. His lips parted saying her name again. "Nersin!" He was fading away slowly and she hurried to knot her hands around his neck and make him stay, but the water evaporated and the gust of wind brushing his hair vanished into the darkness of the room and she plunged into nothingness, left empty handed. "Nersin!"

She stared at him, with wide open eyes, so close she felt his breath caressing her sweaty face. His lips so close, still parted. Images overlapped in her sleepy weary mind. Her heart raced so fast she felt her entire body was bouncing back and forth with the loud drum in her chest. The blue in his eyes drugged her and she bent forward discovering her arms around his neck, tightly knotted and she couldn't wake up to the reality of him in flesh and blood looking down on her with an inexpressive face. Her breasts were embedded into his chest and if the light of the morning hadn't felt so absurdly cruel to her clouded eyes, she wouldn't have been able to grip on the reality at hand. On the reality of his rough open palms on her naked back. She let go, her arms fell to the sides of his body and she collapsed back into the pillows with him cushioning her fall. But he retreated fast after covering her nakedness, afraid he might not be able to control himself.

Cedric listened to her steady breathing as she stared at the white ceiling. He could not grasp on what this girl was all about or how she affected his simple life. Two days she'd been with him; two days he'd witnessed her shy away, drifting into silence. Two nights he'd been caring for her and two nights he'd taken her out of her painful dreams. She was a child caring for another child. His fist clenched in the attempt to keep himself from caressing her arm with the back of his hand. _Child!_ His thoughts enraged him. Those curves under the sheets made him feel guilty for thinking one thing and feeling another. He got up and hurried to the door, thinking he would never get that close again. He turned around to look at her one last time. He did not expect her green gaze on him and froze piercing into her eyes and her eyes said nothing, void of any emotion.

"Sir Mormont and Leora left for Pentos." He paused and looked away, somewhere out on the corridor, thinking it might alleviate the anger and confusion within. But he couldn't resist and went back to her eyes following him still. "It's just you and me now." The door closed behind him; Nersin went back at staring at the fake shapes carved into the limestone. The morning sounds and the friendly sun should've helped soothing her mood. Yet the shadows of the night lingered in the back of her mind; the watery man vanishing like the wind brought tears in her eyes. Cedric Gaëlle scared her, in more ways than one and she blamed herself for the magnetism between them. Her eyes closed listening to the people in the market; sleep stole her away from reality again and soon the wind brushed through her hair again and she feared what it might bring. But the morning light sneaked beneath her flickering eyelids and she saw the shape of the watery man descend upon her again. She smiled. In her dream, Cedric was hers. In reality, the knight in shining armor coming to her rescue upset her. She did not trust kindness in a man, especially coming from a stranger. Mercy and good will changed like the wind when it came to men and she did not want to be there when it happened with Cedric.

**W W W W W W W W**

The room was quiet and the sun added more pressure to their already tense minds, being so exposed to the day light making its way through the moving curtains. The three men looked at each other without a word but their faces were a vivid expression of their feelings. Lord Esther looked down at his feet, his eyes frozen staring to one point that by now had become blurry as his thoughts and worries had taken over his vision of the world around. He breathed and that was all the motion he did, his hands dropping heavy in his lap, his face carved in stone. He felt his temples cracking with a deaf pain and he forced his head back thinking it might alleviate the ache digging in his head. The back of his head touched the chair, his eyes closed; the hurt in his temples flowed through his nerves, protruding through the skin. Swollen blood vessels pulsated on his forehead and he reached for his head to apply pressure with both hands.

"We should have never done this!" his voice was faint and he didn't even bother to look at Lorday who looked emptily out of the window.

"We shouldn't be here, we shouldn't do this, we shouldn't do that!" Lorday turned around looking angered, but it was only his words that bared the anguish for his eyes were as numb as Esther's. His voice died out as soon as he finished his sentence going back to staring at the market place below.

"He failed to take the message. I take this as a sign of ill-fate given by the Mighty Powers and we should not ignore it!" Esther turned around difficultly trying to clear his eyes enough to look at Lorday better.

"There's no sign!" Lorday's voice sounded balanced and deep. "It only means something more is happening out there that we are not aware of." He turned around ignoring Esther, pinning his eyes on Kanza who, in his usual manner, had kept silent, withdrawn in his corner enveloped in his black shrouds; away from the light. "Do you still have the letter?" But Kanza only nodded without gesturing any further. "Well, can I have it?" Lorday stretched his hand waiting rather impatiently.

"I will accomplish my mission." Kanza's words came out slowly, and calculated, showing no intention to return the letter. Lorday let his hand drop slowly, looking the informer in the eye, trying to decipher the unspoken truth that lay behind the tar eyes of this cunning devil. But his eyes were cold and impenetrable and Lorday turned towards the window to take a moment away from Kanza's invasive stare and consider his next move.

"We will not go on with this madness." Esther got up taking a step towards Kanza holding his hand out to take the letter himself.

"Lord Esther, with all due respect, this small encumbrance is only to our advantage! So do not be hasty!" And this time Lorday meant every word he said. His eyes lit up as he watched them both looking at him; one calm, one agitated, but both curious about his plan. "Alchantar went to see Khal with a plan. I must assume it wasn't because of the Tekaras."

"I thought that's all he ever wanted. To settle the score with an old enemy." Esther gestured a bit uneasy, but still, the thought blooming in the back of his mind slowed down his enthusiasm to fight Lorday on the matter.

"Khal Drogo would not be interested in fighting his petty wars if there weren't for a greater gain in all this." Lorday let out a deep breath, his mind still not grasping at the Wolof's plans. "What can Alchantar Wolof offer the Dothraki that would make Khal step into this war?" He looked over his shoulder, glancing at Kanza with sneaky eyes. "You are sure you did not mention to anyone about our little secret?"

Kanza kept quiet for a moment and a flash of superiority and irony rippled in the depth of his eyes but he finally answered in a caustic tone.

"No."

Lorday did not seem pleased. It didn't help with finding more about the plans of the Wolofs' leader.

"We must find out what he is scheming, this Wolof and his men. I am afraid whatever he is trying to accomplish might affect our plans and that, I will not accept."

"What can you do? Some things are not in your power to change! In anyone's power to change!" Esther paced for a bit, then settled back in his chair, this time switching positions too often for Lorday to remain calm around his tossing and groaning.

"The Mighty Powers may not intervene in the plans of men! But men can intervene in other men's arrangements if we are to benefit from such unprecedented downfalls of history!" He approached Esther shadowing his old figure enough for the noble to look up at him and his lips trembled slightly when meeting Lorday's menacing eyes. "There is a risk in everything; or did you think we would be able to pull this little coup without spilling a drop of blood?" He pouted with a smile in the corner of his lips; his eyes changed reflections, mocking and laughing at the same time. "If possible not my blood, of course." He chuckled shortly turning towards Kanza. "Go back to Karok and this time don't leave until you meet with the Wolof chief. Give him the letter. Listen to what comes out of his mouth but read everything his eyes tell you and then come back to me."

Kanza didn't even concern himself with bowing. The look in his eyes was all the confirmation Lorday needed to know he was going to do as he asked. But Kanza remained nailed to the ground, his hand reached for his belt, slowly caressing the velvet bag full of coins and Lorday's eyes flamed with anger again.

"You failed me once, don't fail me again! Then you can ask for more money!" Kanza's eyes responded with icy coldness enough to extinguish the fire in Lorday's flaming regard. He took a step closer and Esther pulled back in the chair a bit. "Don't threaten me Kanza, it does not suit you. We both like this game and it will benefit both of us if we do things right. And time is of the essence now. If for whatever reason the Dothraki accepted Alchantar's offer, whatever it may be, it will all start soon and it will end even faster. Khal never waists time, my friend." His friendship bit the informant right on the face because he stopped frowning and Lorday couldn't help admiring the incredible self control of this strange man. At times he thought he'd been dead and brought back to life just to serve a purpose and never feel again. A low deep groan surfaced through his nostrils and Kanza pulled back towards the door.

But before his hand even came close to the knob, the door opened and Jorah stepped inside, pale with sweaty temples. His cheeks were burning from the long road and his eyes dropped heavy under the weight of the black bags hanging underneath, but he seemed eager and dangerous.

"My lords…" his words sounded like the growl of a dog, testing the enemy's courage before barking to scare them away for good. The color in Esther's cheeks faded to an unrecognizable shade of pink, blending in the sunlight warming his face and he remained seated feeling trapped. Sir Lorday on the other hand froze, fighting desperately behind his public facade to come up with a good excuse of why they were all gathered together; of why Kanza was there. Jorah's eyes turned towards the skinny man dressed head to toe in black and the informant didn't expect to hear his name from the lips of the senior noble.

"Kanza… I believe the four of us must talk." He moved a bit pushing the door open all the way. The three men's heads turned around slowly looking at the figure contouring in the door step. Leora let the hood fall off revealing her wavy chestnut locks, rushing on her face with the breeze coming through the windows. She looked at them with a mélange of fear and curiosity and Lorday took a step closer to observe the woman he wanted to kill.

**W W W W W W W W**

She listened to the fountain sing in the afternoon silence. The sun waved intricate nets of sparkling white on the crystal surface and she enjoyed its childish game. The silvery reflexes of the light blue mirrored on her face, filling her empty eyes with a strange elixir of life. She blinked, hurt by the potent light flickering on top of her pale blue irises and pulled back from the edge of the fountain. She rested against the carved wall, letting her head fell back and strands of long blonde almost white hair flew into the water rippling behind her. She brought her knees to her chest and felt the wind creep in between her legs caressing her skin as she lay naked in her quarters. She was clothed in her sadness and nothing fitted her better since her brother's death. She needed no clothes to mask what she had really become; a lonely woman at the mercy of her country and of the noblemen's will. _It's foolish to fight. Foolish to even try…_She closed her eyes and the peaceful song of the fountain soothed the painful thoughts still digging in her mind. It had been a while since Viserys had died and yet it felt time could not heal her wounds. She was about to be sold to a man who would inherit the throne her brother left empty the day he joined the Gods and she did not want to be a slave in her own home. _Secluded and alone, I must bare… _Her breathing was steamy as it came through her lips, even though the afternoon had proven less humid than the usual. But her fears of the unknown seared her heart and made her body burn with the impatience of planning her escape. Freedom was at hand and there were many ways she could achieve it. She looked down at her hands, opening them slowly, closing them again; staring at the life line carved across her palms. She had been told her right hand showed her life's achievements; how long she'd live, how much she'd travel, how many children she'd have. How much love there would be in her life. She followed the life line with her index until it broke into smaller pieces towards the center of her palm. It seemed to her it had shrunk. Her love life had barely reached half the length of the life line and a bitter smile sprang for just a moment in the corner of her lips. Love did not exist for a Targaryen Princess. It was all a lie that she had fed on feverishly since her mother's death, that she had embraced dearly; but it had consumed her. It made her feel like there was still hope to her life, that a man could still look upon her as to a woman he'd like to spend the rest of his life with, and not as to a prize he must win after indulging in the games of power.

Her stomach pulsated with the desire for love and lust and the pain that the sensation brought with it, knowing the truth about her role in this life. _Not my life!_ It wasn't her life. Her life was given to her people to do as they pleased with it to insure the future of the Kingdom. She was nothing more than an empty vessel; her soul was long gone, and only a few specs were left, glittering in the pit of her hollow. She came on her knees facing the pool and sank her hands into the cool water looking at how deformed they looked under the pressure of the small waves. They were slowly turning white and she could imagine herself like that; white hair, white skin, white lips, dissipating into the light. She crawled into the fountain and her skin shivered with the cold touch but inside it stirred her. She looked up at the ceiling, covered in poison ivy and pink wild roses. She had turned her bathroom into a garden where no sound could penetrate from the outside world and where she spent most of her time, imagining herself away from the Targaryen court. She lay back in the water, holding onto the stone edge of the fountain. The back of her head immersed under and the chillness of the water clang on her neck, but she went on sinking lower. The water rushed in her ears, crawling up her face from both sides and she closed her mouth still staring at the dark green leaves gently flowing into the mild breeze. The rose buds were restless in their movement high above her head, fretting with the approaching winds. The watery line drew closer to her open eyes, feeding on the dry skin; she felt the pressure in her arms from holding tight to the wall of the fountain. She had to let go. Her eyes closed, the water meddled with her dark eyelashes, closing them tighter then rushed to breach the faint defense of her mouth as she took one last breath before the dive. The tip of her nose disappeared under the rippling pond; only her hair lingered on the surface a while longer, floating like white silk threads. Then they sank too, settling lightly on her chest and shoulders, following gently the movement of the water as it shifted around her immersed body. Her fingers lost grip of the stone sliding into the water, her arms astray in their aimless float.

A gust of wind rushed through the open windows, above the steamy water in the marble bath her servants had prepared for her, swirling up towards the ceiling, messing with the garlands of flowers and leaves, until it reached the fountain. A few weak petals gave in to its force and dropped twirling towards the marble children pouring water of their vessels. A rose petal landed gently on the blue surface and beneath her, Daenarys' eyes opened, the pale sky in her orbits barely visible against the sparkling water. Her lips parted, her chest came up with the choking pain of wanting air and it crossed her mind she should come out. But the water protected her, as she floated undeterred on the bottom of the fountain turning the noise of the world into clogged sounds, no longer bothering her. Her lips parted and water sieved in, quickly taking hold of her airways and she arched again, this time spasmodically. Her vision blurred further before her eyes and the light grew darker. The movement of the leaves became slower, growing into shades spreading above the water. The Shadows were coming for her. Her fingernails dug into the floor of the fountain fighting to keep her body submerged. One more spasm; she coughed and air bubbles boiled into the water, distorting the image of her last moments. One more spasm. Her eyes closed and the blue of the water took over, replacing the azure in her dying eyes.

**W W W W W W W W**

"Pardon my intrusion, kind sirs. I am sure you did not expect my visit." Jorah threw his cloak on a chair, but Leora remained with her back against the door, feeling safer to evaluate the situation from a distance. "Allow me to introduce Lady Leora. She's here to show herself to the court, even if I fear some of us may already know more intimate details about her arrival then most of us." He paused locking his eyes with Lorday's to read his expression. "Isn't it?"

Esther remained silent, still baffled by the sudden apparition of Sir Mormont and especially of their victim. If anything could go worse, it was about to happen.

"I believe we decided that she is not to be part of the Targaryen arrangements for the throne." Lorday, looked out of the window avoiding Jorah's inquisitive look.

"No. You decided she is not to be involved and unless you have come up with a better solution, I have asked the Magister to allow us a visit with the princess this evening."

"Daenerys is in no condition to receive anyone. We've tried to reach her, but at no avail." Esther's voice sounded faint and regretful.

"The more reason for Leora to meet with her tonight." Jorah turned towards Kanza as he sat in a corner, wishing to become invisible. "And what is the use of him in this matter, if I may ask?"

Esther looked down, visibly agitated while Lorday took his time in finding the right answer. He suspected Jorah knew more than he was saying but he didn't know how much. He glimpsed at Kanza wondering whether the informant had failed in his mission and the information was now in the wrong hands.

"He has been gathering information about the movement of the tribes." Lorday's voice was calm and linear but Jorah did not fall for it.

"And what would the tribes want with the throne in Pentos? They have their small quarrels to worry about!"

Silence in the room. There was nothing the lords could say other than the truth but none dared to speak out loud without betraying their own secret. But Jorah was impatient as they were running out of time and for once, he needed these court schemers to come straight, for their own sake and for the sake of the Targaryens. He turned towards Kanza staring in his eyes dauntingly and the man took stand as if he were under attack. There were few people that could make him play in defensive but the old nobleman had what it took to stir even the deepest waters of a veteran informant.

"I know who you are. Your fame precedes you. And I know why you are here." He looked at Lorday working his way through his own thoughts to find enough courage and face Jorah, while Esther didn't even try. "You should have known better by now, my Targaryen fellows! The world is a much smaller place than we would like, and this kind of treachery cannot last underground for too long. The Gods have dictated the truth to always surface! And mysterious are the ways in which one finds out about such malevolence form the part of his own men!"

Leora breathed in slowly, her lips sealed, her brain clogged with too much fear, excitement and thoughts. She witnessed Jorah's display of bravery and couldn't help thinking he was putting them in more danger with every word he spoke. Lorday glanced at her from under his short thick eyelashes and something in his look disgusted her. Joarh had warned her about him, but still facing him was different then hearing the stories of his misdeeds. She swallowed in focusing her attention on Sir Mormont, now in charge of the situation.

"I will have you jailed for your… services!" and Jorah spit the words into Kanza's face, growing angrier at the display of irony surging the black eyes. "As for you –" and he pointed at the Lorday as the main culprit "- you will tell me everything you know before it is too late!" Jorah took a small step back with a sudden heaviness in his temples and he hardly managed to control the tremor in his hand. He clenched his eyes closed, making an incredible effort to keep the urge to cough at bay. It took so much of his energy and this was not the time to fall prey to the weakness in his lungs. He breathed in and out, slowly; the clear vision of his mission helped him come back to his senses and he pointed with his finger at Kanza without looking at him. "You! Out! You will be judged for treason if found guilty! Until then you shall be locked away under my precise orders and you are not to be released unless I say so."

"I am not of your people, you have no command over me!" Kanza spoke hard and irritated, as if he was ready to release a knife out of his pocket and free himself from this threat.

"And who put you in charge as to who is arrested in this court?" Lorday was fueled by Kanza's rebellion, but it was short lived.

"Silence, Narcil!" Jorah's eyes sent him back to his demising posture and Lorday shrunk against the afternoon light, once the senior admonished him as he'd call upon a child to respect his elders. "I took charge the moment I found out this man had been to see Alchantar Wolof!" he took a step closer to Lorday and the young nobleman swallowed in uneasily. "I took charge when I learnt that this man spoke about Leora!" Another step and Lorday backed off against the window frame. Jorah stuck his face into his, eye to eye, his breath slapping Lorday's cheek with all its warmth and ill-smell as he spoke again. "I took charge when this man said Wolof was going to kill her!" And his index kept pointing in Kanza's direction.

"And why… why…" But for once Lorday did not find the strength to fight.

"Don't even think about it, you scum!" Jorah sped around the room, grabbing his cloak from the chair, throwing it on his shoulders. "I do not have to hold the wisdom of the old nor the gifts of a magician to know it had to be the two of you! You've been the only ones opposing Leora's arrival to the court! Who else would be interested in having the bastard child of our king killed? And who else better fitted for the job than the most atrocious enemy of the Tekaras, Alchantar Wolof himself? Your actions have endangered us all!" He looked at Leora, still frozen. "Leora!"

She moved at once opening the door and two guards appeared from the dark corridor to grab Kanza. The informant looked puzzled; none of them had considered Sir Mormont had come already prepared for his visit. He let himself be taken away without much resistance and Jorah watched him suspiciously as he disappeared behind the door. But he did not have the time to worry about Kanza's unbelieving lack of stamina. He shut the door turning towards the two men, but Lorday chose to ignore him and looked outside the window.  
>"Esther?" Jorah's voice was commanding but a nuance of pleading in his tone made his rival nobleman look up with worried eyes. If there was a weak point in this conjunction, it was Esther and his grieving past of death and loss. "Esther, the wheel of fate has been spun. If I had come to learn of what you've done, probably others have too. There's no time to blame, but to repair the damage caused." He paused purposefully, waiting for Esther to agree to his opinion. "Esther?..."<p>

"Kanza never met with Alchantar Wolof. He wasn't in Karok when he arrived there." Lorday intervened feeling more secure that if he spoke the truth about their mischief, it wouldn't sound as bad as if Esther had told the tale so he hurried to speak before his elder accomplice.

"Go on." Jorah waited looking at him like an eagle stalking his prey, waiting for it to make one wrong move.

"He had gone to see the Dothraki." Not even the sounds from the market were heard anymore. His ears stumbled on that name again and Jorah's regard fell to the ground. It worried him just as much as it had the first time Nersin mentioned it during their short meeting the morning before. His eyes movement made Lorday curious; the old nobleman looked as if he was building a plan. "You do not seem surprised…" Jorah looked back at him and it was the young man's turn to bow his eyes.

"Because I am not." Jorah nodded the laces to his cloak turning towards Leora.

"Is there something else that you failed to tell me?" Esther continued to remain silent. Lorday shook his head but from under his eyes, a spark of hope and mistrust surged immediately, and he hoped Jorah didn't see it. "Your deed might have just given us the advantage of knowing in advance about the Wolof's plans. If he went to Khal Drogo, he is planning something bigger than crushing his petty enemies. The Tekaras are no longer the prey and we must find out who is." He paused opening the door. He took Leora by the arm bringing her before him as to show her to the two Lords but protect her at the same time and she pulled closer, wanting his protection. "Leora will appear before the council as soon as she meets Daenerys and you will be there to name her as the heir to the Targaryen throne or I will have you both hanged for your treachery."

Jorah pushed Leora outside the room and Lorday fell back against the wall realizing for the first time how tense he'd been. His facial muscles loosened and his eyebrows came down and it hurt with how hard he'd been frowning for the past half an hour. He looked at Esther, motionless in his chair. He started to believe the old man had becomed useless for his cause, Maybe it was time he left Esther behind; mute and motionless as he had always been; forever. His eyes fell on the small wooden table across the room. The writing pen reminded him of that last card he still had to play. He looked outside the window and into the distance, spotting the jail towers. He had to speak to Kanza and see what had become of the letter. It was the key to his doom; or his salvation.

**W W W W W W W W**

The Magister dragged his feet across the dark hall way and the sound of his cane against the stone pavement resounded through the evening air. The soldiers standing guard pulled their weapons aside and he stepped into the small antechamber welcoming Jorah and Leora.

"Jorah, my friend!" They locked arms to sustain both their weary old bodies and to enforce their long lasting friendship with yet one more sign of affection.

"What is this I hear Illyrio? That Daenerys has fallen sick?" Jorah scrutinized the magister's face, but he looked away, not wanting to give him the bad news.

"Come." He turned away slowly and his gaze met the young woman standing behind Jorah. Illyrio stopped, supporting his weight against the cane to marvel at this new apparition that was now throwing the game for the throne into a new era. He took a few more hesitant small steps then bowed to her and Leora fretted, not being used to such treatment. She looked so much like her mother and just as shy as he remembered her, months into her pregnancy when they had first met.

"My lord!" she hurried to help him out and he smiled with her innocence.

"Illyrio Mopatis at your service, your Majesty!"

"Please magister, you embarrass me! I am not here to be your princess, just to help out…" her voice died together with the color in her cheeks and Illyrio held her hands tight.

"Do not fear child. Do not think of why you have come here. Let time, let this place tell you what to do next. It will come to you. Just listen; with your heart." He smiled and it comforted her to find a new friend in the Targaryen court just when she was running out of hope there was anyone out there ready to embrace her presence. "Now come. I will tell you on the way." He stopped abruptly facing Jorah behind him. "Make your visit short." He sighed impotently and his eyelids turned heavy with the guilt of not being there when he had been needed. "She must rest. I fear she was too close this time to succeeding with her plans."

Leora looked confused but Jorah seemed to understand. His heart ached with the news; Daenerys was too young to wish to die. He pushed Leora forward into the corridor, following Illyrio and the soldiers closed the entrance with the strength of their weapons as soon as they disappeared into the womb of the labyrinth. A torch here and there lit the way and Leora wondered why this part of the palace was so somber when everything else seemed to be so richly and vividly ornamented.

"Magister, if you'd be so kind…" Illyrio kept walking but did please her with his attention.

"Yes, child." Somewhere in the back of her mind she did not like being called a child but the next moment she remembered how fearful and uncommitted she was about life and the purpose of this visit, and she deserved to be called a child. _You spineless girl!..._ She looked down as if someone was blaming her out loud.

"Leora?" Jorah's voice brought back the question she wanted to ask the magister.

"Why is this part of the palace so different?"

"It is the way Daenerys likes it. Dark." His cane made a low constant sound on the floor and only the rustle of their clothing muffled it. She remembered what they had said about her, that her mind strayed away from the living. She feared her step sister would scare her more than anything and she sighed getting ready for an encounter she no longer wished for.

Illyrio stopped in front of a massive door. The guards stood aside and he turned to face his visitors.

"Here we are."

Jorah looked at Illyrio but he kept silence waiting for the girl's mentor to talk to her and guide her steps.

"Leora, you go. I'll wait for you outside." Jorah took her cloak off and she brooded anxiously.

"But Jorah – "

"She needs to see a fresh face; she needs to learn it from you. She had seen much of Illyrio and I." He smiled in an attempt to comfort her agitation.

"But I don't know her and she does not know me. And I'm scared."

"So is she, trust me." Illyrio pressed on the knob and the door cracked open. Jorah pushed her forward into the light coming through the opening. "Remember, all you need to know is in your blood for the same blood flows through both your veins. Now go and be who you are."

She stepped inside and behind her the door closed. She didn't turn around to look at Jorah fearing she'd run back to him. Her eyes widened with the view, so unexpected, so unlike the long corridors outside, so different from the rest of this place. Two birds sat on the sill, singing cheerfully surrounded by rivers of flowers falling from the ceiling. She let her gaze followed them up, swirling on the tall marble columns, waving a miraculous net of colors and she stepped lightly, spinning as she went about the room staring at the green ceiling swarming with life. She hit her toes against something and she looked down to see a few steps leading to a small terrace. The few pieces of furniture were scattered around the immense whiteness of the floor, covered in leaves and drying petals falling from the roses above. A gust of wind stirred a drift of leaves and petals her way, dying at her feet and she wriggled her toes crashing a few of them.

"Hm…" It was faint, but she heard it coming from behind her. She turned around gently and saw a tall canopy going around the bed. White sheets came from underneath dragging on the floor and the leaves caught onto it, making it look dirty. She could see little through the canvas, but enough to realize Daenerys was there. Her heart boomed with a new heavy faster pace and she approached the bed silently with just the sound of the dry leaves creeping along her footsteps, accompanying her. She reached for the veils and pushed them aside gently looking inside.

Daenerys was a vision of beauty, one she had never seen before. White skin and perfect lips, colorless, but perfect. Long thick hair, so blonde it was almost silvery, a body so slender it looked too fragile to be disturbed. She sat on the side of the bed, keeping her eyes on her half sister. She did not dare to wake her up. She didn't look ill, so whatever Illyrio said, made no sense to her. Leora looked at her hands, numb among the folds of the bed sheets. When she looked up her sister's blue eyes were watching her, lifeless, like her lips and hands.

"They said you'd come. And so I decided to go." She whispered but Leora heard it; still, she could not grasp on the meaning of her words.

"Go where My Lady?" she was surprised with the candid tone of her voice. Inside her heart, a sweet feeling was making her fall for this fragile girl lying on the bed.

"You're all I have that it is of my blood. Don't call me that. Call me sister; if you can." Leora's lips parted in disbelief and in pain. "I miss hearing that word. Viserys used to call me that; not often. Not since he had taken the throne… What's your name?"

"Leora."

"Leora…" Daenerys smiled warmly. "It reminds me of great adventures and far away lands." She moved her head slightly to look at Leora better. "Illyrio told me of your home, where you grew up. Free…"

"Until now." The words escaped her before reason could lock her mouth away from such truth. Her freedom was about to end but she did not want to make Daenerys feel guilty for it. Her sister looked up at the poison ivy creeping in through the canopy, knotting above her head.

"At least you've tasted it." Her eyes returned to enjoy the image of her sister and she smiled again. "I have been served all my life with everything I ever wanted. Yet I have nothing but this cage." Leora opened her mouth to change the course of the conversation but Daenerys didn't give her the time. "You are so different; different from me and Viserys." She reached for the long chestnut curls coming down Leora's shoulders but her efforts were in vain and she struggled to get up enough to touch her. Her face contortioned, her attempt obviously hurting her. Leora bent down to help her; their arms locked together, their faces so close and they both stopped moving staring at each other from so close. The lazy blue of the morning sky met the honey brown of poplar leaves, the serenity of the Targaryen lands mingled with the wilderness of the woods where Leora had grown up, living untamed and undisturbed by the games Daenerys had been submitted to from birth. They drew closer, until unknowingly they fell in each other's arms, hugging lovingly and it grew inside their hearts as Jorah had foretold. The blood ties did not lie and their bond grew stronger with each second passing by and Daenerys succumbed to the luxury of feeling at ease again with someone. Someone she did not know but had waited to meet.

Leora let go supporting her against the pillows. They joined hands looking at each other.

"Do I look so different?"

Daenerys smiled and nodded, making Leora even more curious as to the differences between her and her step sister.

"Viserys looked just like me. We take after father." She paused sighing. "Our father."

"What about your mother?"

"She had blonde hair as well only brown eyes, like yours. She was beautiful. I wished I had her eyes. They were vivid and bright. Warm." Leora looked down knowing that she did not inherit her eyes from Daenerys' mother.

"Do you know anything about my mother?"

But Daenerys shook her head.

"No. But she must have been beautiful looking at you."

"You should hate me for being who I am…"

They kept silent for a moment and Leora saw the look in Daenerys' eyes change into the same eerie gaze she first had when she laid eyes open her. Dreamy and distant.

"No. I am glad you are here."

"You said you decided to go." Leora shifted position next to her sister, straightening her shoulders. "I've come to make you stay." Daenerys kept her eyes on her with a hunger Leora didn't think her capable of. "I need you. I need your help."

"You weren't born to seek my help, Leora. You were born for a higher purpose and you do not need me to finish your journey." Leora became impatient all of a sudden, grabbing her hands, squeezing hard.

"No, no Daenerys! I need you! I am scared and I do not want to be here!" She realized her words might have offended her and tried to undo her mistake but Daenerys seemed at peace.

"I do not wish to be here either."

Leora gazed into her eyes and they never looked calmer; the hunger, the faraway look had disappeared. She smiled, but something in her heart told Leora her half sister looked at things differently than she did.

"Neither of us can escape our fate. Or so it seems…" Leora said it softly, sad with the outcome of her life.

"So it seems…" Daenerys' voice echoed her own and they smiled again. "I am happy you are here."

"My Lady! – "

"Sister!"

"Sister… don't go! You can guide me into your world, into…" and Leora dropped her sister's hands gesturing as to everything that surrounded her. "… into this! I cannot do it alone!"

Daenerys took her hands back into hers forcing her to look at her.

"I will always watch upon you, do not fear. And I remain forever in debt to you for giving me back my freedom." Leora didn't understand. "Do not trust anyone, only those your heart chooses and never fear the unknown. Don't do what I did!..." Her eyes saddened filling with tears and suddenly she sent that vibe of fear and worry into Leora when he looked at her again. "… Fall. Don't fall into the dark. But if you do, remember you will find light at the edge of darkness." She pressed forward and caressed Leora's cheek with the back of her hand. "Like I did, dear sister of mine!"

Leora felt her touch, her fingers cold and a dark feeling crept into her heart. There was nothing warm; there was no light in her caress.

"I must rest. Go now." She let her body drop down slowly and heavily among the sheets, going back to staring at the ceiling. Leora got up gently, bowing. She saw Daenerys' hand again, numb and pale on the white covers and she couldn't refrain from placing her hand on top of her sister's. Daenerys' startled; her lips parted but her eyes never left the ceiling. Leora pulled away when her sister's fingers curled suddenly around her own and she halted, feeling the pressure of Daenerys' hold. Leora's eyes cried out but she couldn't put words to her desperate sorrow. Daenerys' hand slid out of her grasp and Leora felt as if she was letting go of her for good. She turned around leaving the room in silence. She didn't look back. As she opened the door a new wave of dead lives and dry petals swirled around her feet. This room was a tomb of a dying beauty and life was leaving its walls with every gust of wind.

**W W W W W W W W**

The light was dying and there was nothing glorious in the death of the sun that evening and for Lorday the night seemed to come faster, swiping away the last remains of the day. He sank his chin in the folds of his cape, protecting himself against the strangers in the market, trying to move unseen in the crowd. He reached the gates of the jail and knocked hard, hating the sound so loud attracting attention to him. A soldier opened and he slipped inside followed by his sneaky shadow. He could barely see where he was going and the servants in the compound hurried to light the lamps and make living in between these torture walls more bearable. Lorday went down a flight of stairs and into the basement of the prison. In the belly of the concrete monster he found the jailor sitting relaxed, legs crossed on a table and a bottle of liquor resting at the foot of his chair.

"Soldier!" Lorday threw his cape aside with an impressive move, making the best of his noble appearance and it worked. The jailor rushed to his feet, almost knocking the table over. He took a step back, putting his helmet on and he spilt the wine with his heal and Lorday couldn't decide whether he was amused or annoyed by the scene. His face remained undecided. "Show me to the prisoner they brought in earlier today."

"That man in black?" the soldier sounded a bit stupid, or maybe it was just him being in a haste to get this over with. His tone sounded harsh and irritated when he spoke next.

"Yes. That man in black." The soldier hurried to find the keys in a stash of too many and opened the door to Kanza's cell. He stood tall against the wall gazing up at the little window, seeing how the light had turned into a silver flow of moon sparkle. It had been a long time since he'd been jailed. He turned around unsurprised, in his usual calm and focus and Lorday wondered whether he'd been expecting him.

"Nervous?" And he made sure to spell the last letter long and sinuously as if he knew exactly what Kanza's expectations were of his time locked away in this dark basement.

"Do I look nervous, my Lord?"

"I appreciate the pleasantry" said Lorday realistically caught unarmed by his words, considering the informant had never valued much his status at the court nor cared to mention it in their conversations.

"I assume you know why I am here."

"And I believe you know I still have the letter." Kanza's eyes sparkled in the chalky moon light and Lorday couldn't help smiling. They weren't all that different, this Kanza and him.

"I hope you do, otherwise you are of no use to me anymore." Kanza stepped away from him moving in circles around the cell with Lorday following him close by, measuring their strength and resilience with each step.

"I am of use to you even if I did not have the letter. Someone would have to retrieve it."

"And why would I send the same man who lost it in the first place to get it back?"

"Because that man would be the only one who knew where it got lost…"

Lorday stopped confused with the discussion and Kanza smiled, which was so rare of him.

"I have the letter do not fear. But not on me. I don't go hunting looking like the prey. I don't carry anything that could turn the hunt against me."

"Interesting."

"Indeed."

Lorday took a few more steps, this time cutting through the circle of their own steps to face Kanza from up close.

"I will set you free from this place but this time, make sure Alchantar sees that letter." It was on Kanza's lips to ask what was so important in that letter that Alchantar didn't already know. And why was Leora so important that Jorah had brought her to Pentos and Lorday wanted her dead! Something escaped him, but life had taught him to be silent and observant. Like a paper on which people wrote their secrets, it absorbed the ink and never lost the information. "Am I clear?"

"Always." Kanza took a step back to make room for Lorday as he stepped out of the room. The door closed and moments later he heard the gurgle of a dying man. The door opened again and he saw the jailor struggling on the ground, his hands wrapped around the stab wound in his neck trying to keep the blood from gushing out. But soon it was all over and Lorday pushed him out of the way with his foot, under the table. He wiped the knife on the inside of his cape, and then stashed it back in the sheath.

"This one's on you." He pulled the hood on his head and from the shadows beneath he laid his sneaky eyes on Kanza. "Return before the next full moon, otherwise I will have my men hunt you down for murder." Kanza smiled, bowing. Lorday left and he waited for a few minutes before following in his footsteps. He crept through the shadowy corners, avoiding the few soldiers roaming through the yard with chores. A soldier stood guard at the gate. Kanza approached him silently from behind and soon the moon light had a reddish sparkle on the blade of his knife as it slit through the skin of the young man, dropping dead at his feet. The gate closed behind him and he rushed to cover his face under the black shawl. He felt watched from a distance and he turned around to inspect the heavy gaze stabbing in his back. The two men exchanged one last look, then Lorday turned around getting lost in the crowd, the small streets absorbing him into the evening vociferation. Kanza slid against the wall and into she shadows, protected by the mantel of the night. The moon gleamed shyly above Pentos, its glow not strong enough to reveal the slime slither around the corners.

**Author's note:**

***** Thanks so much to Sandradee27 and Straight Edge Queen for joining the ranks of my reviewers! I hope the story lives up to your expectations. I am trying to keep up with how intricate this has become. I've never really written a story with so many stories going at once in parallel so… yeah! I've made a plan and I'm trying to stick to it so your input is definitely encouraging! **

***** Also thanks to LadyoftheIrishLovr for putting me on her Alert list. Hopefully I'll hear from you soon **

**Hugs and much love to all of you and hope you enjoy this new chapter!**

**Mela**


	10. Chap 9  Brought by the rain

**Brought by the Rain**

"My Lord…" The general bowed to the ground and waited for his master to approve of his disturbance but Alchantar did not bother. He sipped on his wine, slowly, diligently as if it took special effort and skill to empty the cup. Moments later the presence of the man kneeled at the door caught his eye and he signaled him to stand and speak. "A man is here to see you my liege." Alchantar looked at him with lazy ironic eyes, demanding for complete information from the general's part. "He has an important message to deliver, he says. From the Targaryen court." The name awoke the Wolof's interest and he looked at the wine swirl in his cup less thirsty to drink it.

"His name?"

"Kanza, my Lord."

Alchantar inhaled deeply; the name resounded in his ears, he was sure he heard it before. He sat the cup aside waving the general out of the room. _Why are the Targaryens sending someone my way? Is it that they've learnt of my… but it's impossible!_ He got up from the chair abruptly breathing agitatedly. He felt the shiver of a cold sweat running down his spine and he took another breath trying to mask his growing despair. _Kanza, Kanza, Kanza… where did I hear your name, Kanza? Where?_ He paced wildly through the room stopping eventually to realize he had tired himself only by marching hysterically at no avail, for his thoughts remained just as tangled leaving him disoriented with the unexpected visit. He took his shirt off throwing it on the bed and bent over the water vessel to wash away the sweat on his arms and neck. His back bared the markings of too many fights, some new, some old, some that could have been avoided. But he was a man proud of his scars and showed them lightly around, bargaining his fame against the depth of these wounds and people did not challenge that. They could not challenge a fool who'd throw himself in battle blindly at the smallest sign of gain.

He rested his hands on the side of the vessel letting the water drip, drop by drop and he listened to the sound in the silence of the room. It was too silent for a morning in Karok. His town never slept, the mornings sounded like the nights and the nights sounded like pits of swarming chatter in the shadows. _Too silent…_ He walked slowly, measuring his steps to pick up a new shirt that he did not care to button. He grabbed his cup on the way out closing the door carefully behind him; something his father had taught him long ago. Never leave doors open; who knows who might creep inside behind your back.

**W W W W W W W**

Jorah opened the door gently sneaking his head inside. She was fast asleep, her arms dropping on the side of the bed and he felt guilty for waking her up to such news. _Inglorious morning, child…_ He stepped inside the bedroom; a princess' bedroom since she made her appearance at the Targaryen court, her new home. He went around the bed, pushing aside the heavy velvet drapes and took a moment deciding whether to sit on the chair or on the side of the bed. He sat on the bed and reached for her hand, slowly.

"Leora!..."

She took in a deep breath, trying to help her eyes open to the morning light and Jorah bowed his head again, subdued by the reality he had to confront her with.

"Jorah…" She rubbed her forehead, pushing away the mass of brown hair and she mesmerized again at how silky and smooth it felt after the maids had brushed it thoroughly the night before. She didn't know her hair could look like that. She deepened her head in the pillows enjoying the soft sensation and ignored Joah who was waiting patiently for her spoiled mood to end. She glimpsed at him looking all mournful and she sighed in regret; not everyone enjoyed a good morning like she did. Leora pushed herself up on the pillows, still reluctant at fully opening her eyes, thinking she might go back to sleep after Jorah said whatever he came in for to say. And he was not fun to have around but she still held on to the hope that he would not ruin her first morning in her new home.

"What happened, Jorah?" her voice sounded serious, but sleepy and she enjoyed that lingering slumber in her tone.

Jorah pouted, folding his hands together, and then again, with his massive rings hitting against each other and she found the noise annoying. He hesitated; his mouth opened and closed again but words seemed to elude him.

"Jorah, just speak."

"You should come with me."

"What happened now? Are we at war already?" he sounded so annoyed and rather upset with the situation, whatever sleep remained on her eyelids vanished with the feeling. Jorah looked at her and the seriousness in his eyes warned her to end her winning.

"Put some clothes on, My Lady." He looked at her white night gown and wanted to add more but he didn't and Leora did not insist. He got up and walked to the door silently with just the sound of his cape dragging behind him. He turned around in the door step and looked at her sliding back lazily under the covers. "Hurry!"

Leora pulled harder on the bed sheets unwilling to give up her long morning; she dreaded the long days ahead of her and she wished she avoided them as much as possible, but it seemed those rooms held no privacy and the intrigue outside the walls could not be stopped with just a lock. She sighed and nodded, accepting her task. The door closed and she sank her head into the whiteness of her bed covers staring at the ceiling. The silence had now become a burden and her breathing sounded too loud.

**W W W W W W W**

He wished for some silence, he couldn't even hear his own thoughts. Kanza looked around a bit confused with all the agitation. He expected a more organized environment, a respectful lodge dignifying of a king of Alchantar Wolof's size, but the halls of his house seemed anything but and he kept looking at the servants, running back and forth through the doors. And yet, in all this hustle, a few bodies laid still around the room, black sentinels put there for a purpose. His Wolves, his watchers; his murderers if need be and Kanza counted them all, trying to remember their position, envisaging a way out if he had to escape. But they left little room in between, so one mistake by any of these passersby and there would be no way out of this trap. Everything was a trap with the Wolof King, including his own home. His eyes set on a man, staring at him from the other end of the room. Black leather pants, medium height, curly short hair, piercing eyes. His stubble was carefully trimmed drawing severe lines down his cheeks, turning those haunting eyes into something worse that followed you even when you turned your back at him. He took a step forward and the edges of his unbuttoned shirt moved slightly; no man other than Alchantar himself would have dared walk like this in the home of the king, unless he had no brain or courage to waist. Kanza stayed put, wishing for the rumble around him to stop so he can visualize Alchantar better but with all the commotion surrounding him he found it hard to focus on his target. Alchantar raised his hand and the sentinels brought their weapons up; the metal end of their spears glittered against the impartial sun spilling inside through the windows and the servants stopped for a second. As if they were signaled, they vanished in the same unorganized fashioned as they walked, closing the doors behind them and before long Kanza stood alone facing Alchantar Wolof in his home; him and his death dealers.

Alchantar kept his distance circling the stranger a few times before deciding to approach him cautiously.

"You stir my senses… why is that, Kanza? Why is it that I know your name?" Alchantar walked gently around the man in black as if he sniffed his prey, slowly and meticulously.

"The tremble of the earth always stirs the burning coal, my lord." He almost whispered the words sending his message softly to the king's ears and Alchantar grasped on the meaning subtlety.

"A Dakelh at my doorstep. Surely, this is unexpected. Especially when I hear he's been sent by a Targaryen." The Dakelh, the Earth people, the tribe living high on the rocky mountains of Khalur, leading a solitary existence, secluded and mysterious. A race that gave birth to the most fierce and astute scouts and emissaries; veritable weapons of the high power regimes. They cared for nothing other than gain for they had nothing to make profit of in the heart of the mountains. They were warrior monks, following a silence code only a man with their up-bringing could control and accept. Kanza was a fine specimen of his kind and many have heard of his name, yet he remained in the shadows and could never be tracked down, unless he wanted to be found. So Alchantar, wondered who had the money and the skill to find this elusive man and send him over to Karok in the middle of his secret plan… _is it a secret anymore?_ Now the fire had to smolder and be patient otherwise the earth might crack beneath it and scatter its ashes to the seven kingdoms. "Tell me, what is your message? What can my people do for the mighty Kingdom of the Targaryens?"

"Not for the kingdom. But for yourself." Alchantar looked at Kanza confused but quickly switched to a more aggressive stand to intimidate the adversary. Someone must know of his plans; this could not be a coincidence.

"Explain yourself."

Kanza reached within the folds of his long clothes and the sentinels hurried to point their spears at him. The air grew heavier with the tension and the Dakelh froze for a moment giving them time to acknowledge he was no threat to their lord. He raised his other arm keeping it in sight until Alchantar signaled his men to fall back. His protectors returned to their rigid position, but never lost sight of the new comer. Kanza slipped his hand inside bringing out a letter baring a red seal. He stretched his hand towards Alchantar but he seemed reluctant. They looked at each other in a silence that said more than all the words they could speak and still, the Wolof doubted he should open the letter. But Kanza was undeterred; his hand didn't shake, his eyes didn't blink, his stand remained firm. He was a Dakelh, he delivered messages, it was his duty and he had gone through a lot to get here. And there was a lot waiting for him back in Pentos if he did not. Alchantar captured a sigh in his throat detaining it from slipping out of his mouth and reached for the letter. Kanza didn't let go until he was convinced the Wolof had a good grip on it, then his fingers unclenched from the paper. The king looked at the seal carefully. He recognized the symbol, but he could not put a name to it. That meant that whoever sent him the letter must have been a petty nobleman. Otherwise he knew them all in Pentos; the ones that counted. Mormont, Mopatis, they were the players of this game and this was not their seal. Somehow, acknowledging this brought him peace, thinking no one smaller than the oldest court man and the magister of the Targaryens could harm him in any way. He opened the letter with a subtle smile in the corner of his lips and took a few steps closer to the window, allowing that earlier sigh to unburden his chest. One more step; and another until the light shone shyly on the paper and the words stood out in his eyes and his steps diminished. One more step; and another. Alchantar came to a stop. His hand shook a bit and the paper flickered with the tremor. He read the name again and again, and then the words around it, the lines underneath, adding grievance to each one of them and his eyes flamed with the fire of his people burning in his chest. His hand came down, slowly, as if he wanted to find the strength to walk or hold on to the paper, his eyes pierced across the windows and into the shadowy abyss beyond. The clouds were gathering slowly, thundering in the distance. The paper flew out of his hand, flowing with the silent breeze, and as it did, Alchantar reached forward curling his fingers on the spear held by the sentinel before him. The paper flew nearer to the ground and his fingers gripped harder on the wooden handle and as the parchment finally touched the stone floor, Alchantar turned around swiftly, rolling on his heal, launching the spear into Kanza's ribs and he did not see it coming. He bent under the hit, his chest cast forward in a jolt, his back arched with the incredible pain of the metal protruding through his bones. But Alchantar did not want him dead, just suffering; suffering for not doing his task right, for the delay in bringing him such necessitous goods. Kanza fell to his knees, leaning on the side, his arms numb. He finally collapsed on the floor, not moaning, not groaning, but silent as his ways dictated even in the harshest of times. He knew that if the Wolof wanted him dead he would have stroked again by now. But the ordeal was not over yet. Alchantar's foot pressed on his ribs sending him into agony and he squirmed under the sole of his boot.

"For how long have you withheld this information from me? How much time did you spend in the taverns of Karok before coming to me? I know your kind; they like to have their way thinking they have unlimited power just because they know something others don't!" He applied more pressure and Kanza scratched the floor with his fingernails but remained mute to the pain. "But information is frivolous and goes about easily. So who else knows of this? And do not lie to me, because if you squeaked, my people will know. See… it's how I've taught them to be; listen, learn and never betray. Me." He stopped moving his leg but Kanza did not utter a word. "Did you speak too anyone else of this?" the echo of his powerful voice resounded through the empty room making the informant's voice seem weak and lost.

"No." Alchantar did not loosen his grip. He was too enraged to find that calmness he needed to release the man. He wanted to believe no one else knew of this but he still found it hard to conceive that such news had not been delivered to him sooner. It changed everything for him. Such thoughts tired his already exhausted weary mind. He let go of the Dakelh dropping the spear. The sentinels startled with the blunt sound of the metal hitting the ground; a few blood drops scattered on the grey floor. Alchantar walked towards the door, signaling one of his men to retrieve the letter for him. The sentinel rushed to kneel before him with the paper in his hand. Alchantar took it, his eyes scrolled down the letters one more time.

… _I fall short to express my regrets for not having reached you faster with this deer news; unfortunately, the times are such that the people I trust are few and my hands are tight when it comes to leaving the walls of Pentos. There is little I could do to bring these anxious tidings myself and present them to you, along with my aggravated concerns. I fear we are alone in this fight, for few of us understand the true nature of this conflict and the danger this woman brings to us and our kingdoms. Leora Stekara must not take the throne; her blood is mingled and she is not to be trusted, with her primitive skills and childish knowledge. I, for one, cannot do anything to stop it from happening, but I trust, my lord, that you could have the means and the reasons, let alone the opportunity to assist in this matter. Pentos already has its rightful owner in Daenerys; the Targaryens do not need a bastardchild to rule over our lands, pride and fortune. She must be uprooted from our path and thrown away, somewhere no one can find her. Never find her. I know my words may weight heavily on your shoulders, but I would like to believe we share common interests and such, disappearance, would benefit us both…_

Somewhere in the back Kanza rolled on the floor slowly, trying to cope with the pain. The blood was sieving through the cracks in the stone beneath him. Leora Stekara, the Tekara who had so dauntingly faced him in battle and defeated him was none other than the bastard child of the Mad King. Alchantar smiled knowingly, rolling the letter in his hand. That would explain the foolish courage and the cunning planning of her strategy. Her father was like that; a strategist, a master mind of scheming who rarely fought out in the open. This Narcil Lorday proved to be useful after all, regardless of his inferior rank.

"Call upon my generals at once. I will be in the hall or arms." Alchantar glanced back at the informant. "Keep him…" he paused purposefully waiting to catch Kanza's eye but he didn't grant him the pleasure. "… alive." The Wolof left holding tight to the letter. The sentinel rushed in the opposite direction passing by an agonizing Kanaza, still holding on to his bleeding wound. A gust of wind rushed inside, soothing his pain, cooling the sweat accruing on his eyebrows. The storm was coming and it would go beyond the Wolof borders.

**W W W W W W W**

The wind hurried to push a wave of dead leaves her way and they stumbled in swirls around the white fringes of her long dress. The veils of her long train gathered the dry remains of what used to be life giving roses hanging from the walls of Daenerys' bedroom. Leora looked at the dead trail forming before her as the wind continued building a path for her to walk on, made of rusty petals and broken thorns. She looked up slowly following the invisible gust of wind, looking at the heavy grayish curtains moving with the breeze and somehow she couldn't bring herself to leave the door step and walk inside her step sister's room. She felt Jorah behind her, silent yet firm in his decision of seeing step inside. She let go of the knob, her long bell sleeves slid gently along the wooden frame of the door, sieving the dry air through the transparent material. She took small steps, cautious, her heart sinking low with an unbearable feeling she could not disregard. The bed was empty; empty of her presence yet covered in the nature dying above. And she felt the emptiness expanded all around, coming from behind her and she turned around slowly and as she did, she clearly distinguished the feeble sound of the fountain spilling water, calmly, undisturbed by the emptiness around it. Leora's eyes looked beyond the crystal curtain and saw the dress, on the floor, the ends of her shawl blown gently by the wind. She took a step closer to the edge of the fountain and her heart came to life rapidly, sending her temples into a continuous pulsation making her head ache. Sounds faded, the water murmur died in her ears as she went around the fountain.

Her silvery hair wedded the marble indentations, to the point of complete merging, as if she was becoming one with the floor. Leaves traveled in small circles onto her body, from her joined hands, up her chest and to her face, falling slowly in the hollow of her color bone or down in her hair. Leora lost strength and will and her body weakened with the sight; she knew, she just knew. She turned her face around and sat on the edge of the fountain, her hands numb in her lap, her eyes shadowed by tears. The sound of the water came back, louder than before and the tremble in the pool behind her made her shiver uncontrollably. She glanced over her shoulder again. Daenerys lay peacefully on the marble floor, beautiful, motionless, sad. Leora blinked releasing the weight of the tears down her cheeks and she sniffed, feeling that weight fall from her chin onto her chest and she found no relief in crying. She slid on her knees and crawled slowly to where the body of her step sister was, resting her forehead on Dani's chest. She rubbed her warm skin against her rigid cold hands and one by one her tears fell on the massive ring baring the royal insignia. Leora did not look at the ring; she felt abandoned. She felt she did not do enough to prevent this misfortune from happening. She twisted her body lying on the side, her cheek on Dani's chest and her eyes looking up her body, to her chin and the strands of silvery hair still shifting with the breeze. She saw the markings on her neck, the purple bruises and she came closer to inspect them. They stretched around her slender neck to under her chin where it had scratched her jaw and she had the impulse to touch it but her hand froze in the air unable to sooth Dani's pain anymore.

Jorah came closer and their eyes met. It hurt his heart to see the two sisters reunited to then be separated after so little time. It hurt him even more to see them both distraught; Dani had just put an end to her misery that night and Leora barely started tasting the bitterness of her new life. Leora met his regard and his eyes mirrored her despair. Jorah looked up and she followed him seeing a piece of rope still hanging from the ceiling. Leora's lips parted with a sigh but she still didn't get enough air in her lungs for she sighed again, this time obviously looking to breathe. She turned around, curling her legs underneath her, and she took Daenery's hand into hers, caressing it gently and the coldness of her sister's skin still haunted her senses.

"Why?" she spoke so gently. "She seemed fine yesterday…"

"Did she?" and Jorah questioned her for the truth her heart knew since she had first laid eyes on Dani. Leora swallowed in caught lying. She had had that premonition, that shadow lingering in her mind when she left her sister's bedroom the evening before. "If it is of any comfort, she had tried this before. Yesterday she tried to drown in the fountain but the servants found her on time."

Leora continued walking the tip of her fingers along Dani's white fingers and as the reality of her death sieved in through her morning numbness she wanted to know more and questions crowded in her mind.

"Why would a princess, so young and beautiful put an end to her life? I know she misses Viserys, but she had all the reasons to live." She paused contouring the ring on Daenerys' finger, not really focusing on the insignia. "We are bound to live."

"Some are bound to fall."

Leora looked back at Jorah instinctively, stirred by the impression in her mind.

"We are not bound to fall, we are made fall." She dropped Dani's hand standing up. "She did not want to die. This place, this… the people, the pressure, they made her fall. I've never seen young people wishing to die."

"What about those who go to war before they even know how to mount a horse or hold a sword? They go to death knowingly."

"It's their choice!"

"This was her choice as well!" and he showed at Daenerys' body behind her. "Not all people choose to die because of noble causes, in the name of courage and honor. Some choose to die out of fear and loneliness. Out of despair. And you and I should not judge." He came down on one knee looking at Dani and he rushed his fingers through her hair, feeling the soft texture for a minute. He nibbled on the blonde strands a little longer before letting go. He took her hand and slowly pulled the ring out bringing it back to Leora. "One cannot know what lies inside the hearts of people."

"But you knew what laid into hers and did nothing about it!" she looked angered wanting to defend her sister even in death.

"You cannot help someone who does not wish to be helped. Death was freedom for Dani!" and the way he said her name, so familiar and sweet broke Leora again into tears and she bowed her head leaning against Jorah for a moment; he gave her the time she needed to bring her emotions at bay. She looked at him again and Mormont recognized her mother's valor in her eyes. He took her hand slowly putting the ring on her finger and she watched him do it, speechless. Once the ring was secure on her ring finger, the old nobleman held both her hands tightly making her look him in the eye. "Daenerys tried to die time and again after Vicerys' death; she never succeeded. In my mind, I think she did not truly want to die and her insecurity kept death away from her. Dani was brave and loyal, dedicated to her people and to this family. In her heart she knew she couldn't leave them behind unprotected and uncared for. And then along came her long forgotten sister." His smile made her cry again but she didn't break loose from his hold. "She knew she had found someone to take her place and look after her kingdom. Your kingdom. And she could go in peace." Leora shook her head in disbelief.

"She dies because of me! My arrival here made her trust an illusion! She doesn't know I am not who she thinks I am!"

"But if you are not her sister nor the princess of Pentos, daughter of your father and heir to the Targaryen throne, then why do you stand here now, mourning the loss of someone you barely knew, blaming yourself for her death?" Joarh leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "Blood ties never perish." He went back standing straight before her. "Wear this ring with pride. It's Dani's legacy left to you and if after so many attempts Death finally decided to take her it must be because she allowed it, for she was convinced we were left in good hands." He kneeled slowly, still holding her hands and smiled bowing his eyes for a moment. "Long live the Queen, long have we waited for new hope!" But his words passed her by; Leora felt the ring tight and heavy on her finger. Her eyes got lost outside the window watching the stormy skies closing in to the capital. _Blood ties never perish…_ The body of her step sister reminded her of that; of the same weakness crawling in her veins. She too was scared; she too despaired with the hardships life was throwing at her. And there was no one out there she could wait for to save her from this responsibility. Nothing was coming her way, but a storm.

**W W W W W W W**

The terrace was his favorite place. Khal sat silent, his green eyes smoldering with unanswered questions. Tekaya had been restless with rumors of the council's decision to go to war. He bowed his eyes to the thunders, shuddering to pieces the skies above the sea. _We stand to commit fowl deeds, father…_ He hated to complain or contemplate on something that had been already done. He took a deep breath staring daringly at the Dothraki sea. The billow was loud; the Gods were sending the sea home. The waves kicked in relentlessly against the ragged shores and he listened to what they had to say. A storm rising from the caverns hidden below the water realm, furies and curses sent from the deep, threatening his peaceful existence. He looked at his hands; generous palms, wide open, strong wrists with a powerful twist, long fingers known for their mighty grip of the sword. He turned them around to see the cuts, the burns, the ink drawings he had carved into his skin to remind him that battle was also about blood, and pain and sacrifice. Not just about honor. His hands rested on his knees, his shoulders lowered in defeat. He could not chase away the feeling that this was wrong, that the Wolof did not tell him the whole truth of his intentions. His chest came up slowly with a deep breath and his tanned skin stretched under the pressure. The breeze was cooler as it flew in from the sea even though it was only afternoon. His muscles tensed, his tendons protrude from underneath the skin, his nipples shrunk and darkened in color, visibly affected by the cold. But he remained undeterred; his demeanor unchanged as if the elements of nature did not touch him. A few small strands of hair had broken loose from his tail and now roamed freely across his cheeks, getting caught in his beard and eyelashes but he ignored them as well. He was content with the fact that the council at least gave him the freedom to react to any unexpected change in the Wolof's plan. _And by the Mighty Powers, he better not play me!_

A servant girl entered the room in her usual humble manner, placing a steaming pot at his side and a small cup. She bowed and was ready to leave when he spoke, still with his eyes pinned on the rising waves.

"Come here." She rested her steps at his side, her head down and her blonde hair braided to the side. His hand touched her dress. "Take it off." The material fell at her feet and she waited for his command, but Khal was delaying his decision of whether to have her or not. He seemed more attracted to the fury of the sea than to the voluptuous nakedness standing beside him. He reached for her bringing her on her knees and he fell back slowly into his large skin covered chair. The girl untied the pins holding his coverings together and found him steadily arose, but not stirred enough. It rarely happened for the Khalasar to be so distraught as to not have his mistresses at once. She wished she could look up into his eyes and witness the storm brewing within but she would die trying. Her fingers circled his manhood, massaging its length, slowly and purposefully and Khal closed his eyes, undecided still whether he wanted her or not. His mind was somewhere else, his body there and the connection between the two was chipped with the worry of tomorrow. She let her lips fold the tip gently, hot and slippery and he closed his eyes allowing his body to take over the mind. He needed to unwind and free himself from the load of his own thoughts. He slipped deep in her mouth, his head fell back resting on the chair; he felt the need surge inside him, pooling down below where she sucked smoothly and rhythmically on his cock. His heart followed her pace and soon it grew faster, racing with her lips closing in to the base of his manhood, holding him prisoner in the depth of her mouth and he was ready. His hands came to life and he wrapped the braid around his wrist bringing the girl up in his lap. She spread her legs riding him difficultly with the chair being wide, with him being so overwhelming in stature and strength. His palms landed on her thighs, grabbing tight to keep her on top of him. She felt him slide between her lips and she was moist with longing for him. He slid up and down her cleft one more time, still keeping his eyes closed, and she did her best to keep her moans at bay and her body away from his, not to offend him with her uncontrolled lust.

A thunder roared in the distance followed by lightening cracking the skies sending veins of fire across the grey clouds; he entered her and she fell on him hard with the sound of the thunder bolts in her ear. His palms pushed down on her until their skins met and he rested fully inside of her. He ran his hands across the length of her legs and pulled her knees up to his hips and she lost control. A short cry escaped her, with the pain in her womb from him going to deep; with loosing balance and grabbing on his shoulders unexpectedly. His eyes opened staring at her face blossoming with rosy blush in her cheeks and clear drops of sweat forming on the hair line of her temples. She guarded her eye sight from him, but he cared less for her obedience. She was blocking his view to the sea, to the storms unleashing in the midst. He put his palm with fingers spread wide between her large breasts and pushed her down, making her arch above his knees. Her tail swirled down her chest falling to the ground as she dangled from waist down, with the back of her head almost reaching his calves. She scrambled to find something to hold on to and her fingers dug into the animal skins dragging on the sides of the chair. Khal groaned with the feeling of his cock being curved so much inside her arching body. He pushed forward a bit, with just a slight rocking of his hips and the friction was incredible. Her inner wall rubbed so hard on his shaft that he became impatient with striking harder, like the lightning scorching the skies far at the bounds of the sea. The servant girl groaned softly losing her breath with the severe twist of her body but he ignored it, searching her body feverishly, walking his hands from her ribs down on top of her belly to where her core was exposed and he pressed his thumb against her sensitive bud enjoying how it sent electric currents into her body making her tighten the hold of her inner walls around him. He went on massaging it, looking at her core carefully as if nothing else existed, focusing his attention into making her explode. He wanted to play, to own, to tease; his face remained implacable, his eyes fixed on the center of his interest and his thumb caressed again the slippery bud, up and down and left to right, so gently, so arousing, it caused her to arch pushing down on the chair trying to get away but his hands brought her back embedding himself back inside her and he went on. The girl moaned out of breath, her back hurting from the twist, her temples pulsating from the blood dropping too fast, too much in her head. She sweated, her face reddened and she beg for mercy behind clenched eyes. His hips pushed inside her again, his fingers worked their magic on her core, spreading her lips to the side, drawing circles of fire all around her moist entry and she couldn't take it anymore. Her limbs failed her, she trembled and lost grip of the chair sliding down to his feet.

But he didn't let her fall. He bent just in the nick of time and caught her, bringing her up and against his chest and she launched at him heatedly relieved from the suffocation and poisoned enough by the smooth rocking of his lips to claim his cock with renewed desire. He freed her hips and she rocked on top of him with a vengeance, slapping her voluptuous breasts against his shoulder as she leaned forward grabbing on the chair for support. Khal pushed her down a bit, to look over her shoulder; the afternoon had become humid, the sun was swallowed by the clouds and the storm had drawn nearer. Her body steamed with sweat and it made the skin on his neck sticky; she rode him good and he ignored the feeling of her body too close to his. When he didn't want to be touched, he didn't want to be touched, but he was complacent now with the view of the rising tempest. She dropped on him harder and his vision darkened his eyes borrowing the grey of the clouds turning into the color of the ever greens high in the Khalur mountains. His eyelids closed heavy with the pleasure becoming unbearable in his groin. His hands gripped on the arms of the chair as she rode him harder. She gasped for air, her breathing burning his ear and he drew nearer to the end. She screamed shortly and he released the chair to grab on her legs and sink her onto him so hard, so open she cried louder. She trembled with him rotating her thighs around his shaft, rocking deep inside her and he came. His body shuddered with the sudden release, and his tremor passed on to her and she threw her head back welcoming an orgasm that made her bite her lips. Khal closed his eyes feeling the breeze again; the day had turned into shadows, the sun was gone and the thundering roared louder and closer to the shore.

"Leave." He didn't help her off, he didn't look at her dress, he didn't care she could barely walk on her way out of the room. His eyes opened again to the forces of nature; the rain was coming and he welcomed it to wash away his doubts.

**W W W W W W W**

It rained, it poured, that even the sound of the thunders seemed too weak to pierce through the thick curtains of water. Leora watched the spectacle in silence. It wasn't like in Uyack where the rain fell from the sky like grains of silver dropping small and brilliant in the murky sun making the woods sweat and steam and the plains grow greener under its blessed touch. Pentos looked amiss in her eyes, with its manmade gardens and solid constructions, small streets and crowded markets. Mud coming from under the rose bushes in the yard flooded the stone pavement of the tortuous path ways in the garden below. She watched the purity of the dirt wash on the imperfection of man's creation and she wished she was home. She thought of Cedric and Ortezza left behind preparing for something they didn't even know they could face. Water splashed on the terrace and soaked her black dress but she stood her ground against the windy attack. Jorah grabbed her by the shoulders pulling her back.

"My Lady! Come inside."

She turned around to look at the servants lighting the candles around the heavy wooden table where her step sister lay dead in her coffin. She had dressed her in white; purity born for sacrifice and sacrificed she was on the altar of diminishing desires and puny games of power. Daenerys' pale face lit up little by little in the candle light and Leora watched her with a broken heart. She pulled the black veils on her face to stare form behind its protective shelter at the little crowd gathering in the corners of the once commodious bedroom. Now it seemed to have shrunk with the presence of death and sadness.

"Is this all she disserves? Are these all the subjects that come to see her on her last journey?" she sounded angered and almost spit the words in Jorah's face, but her eyes were still counting the handful of people gathered for the funeral.

"My Lady, you must understand. News of her death must be kept among the walls of this palace at best. This is not the time to spread such rumors." He whispered back, searching the faces of the nobility arriving, looking for signs of more than just curiosity from their part. "Her presence might still be of use to us."

"Her presence?" Leora turned around to face her guide into this new world and this time she was adamant about her opinion. "You would use her name even after she's gone? Hasn't she had enough? Can't she be left to rest in peace?"

"She will rest in peace when her people are safe and she would help if she could in our efforts to defend ourselves against the enemy." Jorah paused peaking her interest and she waited. "What once worked, my wok again, we must count our options and draw our strategies; which are few."

"What are you saying?" in the back of her mind she knew what he meant, but still she needed a clearer answer.

"Let's not discuss this now, but wait for a more convenient time. Join your sister; lead the way for her."

Leora looked outside at the pouring rain and the bolts rolling down from the skies in frightening shapes of countless arms descending to earth. She quivered inside.

"Let her stay for another night." She looked at Jorah with pleading eyes. "Please." Mormont sighed and nodded agreeing to her wish. The door opened and a soldier came in roughly and unwelcomed. His eyes looked wearily around the room searching for someone until they found on him. He bowed and took a step back silently inviting Jorah to accompany him. Leora watched the nobleman join the soldier in the door frame. The young man looked troubled and seemed to find it difficult to resume his gestures to something more appropriate for the occasion. Jorah listened carefully; his eyebrows came together, his lips parted with a sigh. For a brief moment he glimpsed at Leora watching them attentively. He said something to the soldier then dismissed him closing the door. She waited impatiently for the news and this time Mormont didn't wait to speak.

"Kanza has escaped last night. I do not know nor wish to know at this point-" and he underlined the words with an angry hissing "- why I have not been told earlier." Leora looked frightened and Jorah did not rush to offer her support. His mind stormed thinking Kanza could have not pulled this stunt on his own. _Lorday! You miserable scum!_ He sighed and finally noticed Leora staring at him looking for clarifications.

"Can we catch him?"

"It's too late." He patted her hand with a fatherly gesture, too short for her anguish to be soothed but she enjoyed it nonetheless. "My lady, mourn your sister tonight, but tomorrow morning burry her together with your former self. For you must rise as the new queen of Pentos, a queen that will have to face war alone, with just an old man and a small tribe as your allies." He looked so worried it sealed Leora's lips facing the unspoken threat lingering on his tongue. In the candle light, hidden by the black veils, her eyes flickered with tears. "I am afraid that soon we will have to brace ourselves against a greater enemy than Alchantar Wolof." Jorah let go of her hand looking at Daenerys' cold body wrapped in her silvery and golden embroideries. At his side, the blackness of Leora's wear made his heart startle. The true blood of the Targaryens laid dead in the majestic colors of the day light while the nightly shadows enveloped the only true remaining Targaryen; he feared that perhaps Leora wasn't ready.

A gust of wind rushed madly inside killing the flame of the candles; one by one they died and darkness settled in the room. Leora watched as the night sank across the gardens in Pentos; across the whole in the ground where her sister was to be laid to rest; where her old life ended and her new life began. And the rain kept pouring.

**W W W W W W W**

"I did not call for you Wolof. So why do you bother me?" Khal sat in his throne watching over the hall in all his might and luxury. Alchantar took a step closer; he looked like a man who'd been on the run for days, yet he had only left Karok the night before. Soaked wet and disheveled, the Wolof King did not offer much for the Dothraki Khalasar to admire. "You disrespect my house looking like this, bringing your dirt onto my precious rugs…" and Khal enjoyed being ironic and sadistic to a man who had obviously killed his horse over night to get to the far shores of his sea. But Alchantar ignored his game of words and came closer with water still dripping from his long cape on Khal's precious rugs. And he looked the Khalasar in the eyes making sure he noticed the wet trail he left behind. Khal smiled; he admired a man with courage, even if he was a mad man like Alchantar Wolof.

"I heard rumors of your decision, my Khalasar…" he tried to catch his breath, finally bowing his eyes to the chieftain.

"Rumors are nothing next to my word, Wolof. You should have waited for my call, as I said. I never hurry to decide, nor to spread rumors, especially when I have to bargain war with a man so elusive such as yourself." Khal spoke firmly and slowly; all of his council, all of his people present in the room, all of the Wolofs along with their leader got his message loud and clear.

"I hope I have your trust my Khalasar, for I meant each and every word I spoke in your presence and my actions and commitment stand true." Alchantar looked down, but from the top of his eyes he glimpsed at Khal, trying to read his reaction. But Khal was hardly impressed by honey talk.

"I never trust anyone but myself just as I trust that your commitment stands true to your own purpose." Drogo walked down the few steps from his throne going in small circles around the Wolof, playing with his knife as he paced. "But my council decided that your purpose could benefit us as well, thus the Dothraki will join forces with you –" he stopped looking at the profile of the Fire King and his green eyes met the burning depths of this slick man "-but be advised that I stand to have free will in this agreement of ours and the council shall not interfere to save you if you but think of betraying me." Their regard locked strongly from the corner of their eyes as they stood next to each other.

"You have nothing to fear." But Khal walked away with a smile in the corner of his lips. "And to prove my intentions I have brought more news. This time… disturbing ones." Khal stopped pouring wine and placed back the bottle on the tray the servant held up for him.

"Speak." He sipped going back to his throne; he rotated his neck gently, cracking the bones and he enjoyed the sound.

"A bastard child of the Mad King Aerys II has been discovered living with the Tekaras."

Silence; not even he had assumed such news, not even the Khalasar himself had believed the child would be found. He played with the wine in the cup but didn't drink.

"There were rumors long ago of a bastard child. They lost track of him."

"Of her, my Khalasar. It is a woman."

Khal smiled and the smile turned into a grin and then into a strong laughter. He emptied his cup in a gulp putting the glass aside.

"You amuse me! Alchantar Wolof, a lecher, a sweet talker who has left more bastards behind than Aerys himself misses to see this woman living right under his nose, the only woman who could actually make a difference for him!" He shifted position in his throne, pushing his legs forward carelessly, obviously content and pleased with the new twist in the situation. "All these years you've been fighting the Tekaras and you didn't know! It must be the irony of the Gods!" He lifted the empty cup. "Wine!" The servant girl rushed to his side and refilled the cup. "The Gods and I enjoy the same irony!" He sipped a few times, taking his time to acknowledge the information. "What is the name of this woman and why do you fear her?"

"Leora Stekara and I do not fear her." Alchantar pressed on the words trying to make a point.

"Her name sounds strange. She did not inherit it from Pentos."

"No my Khalasar, she was raised and named by the Tekaras." Alchantar took a deep breath thinking of how to explain his plan better. "Princess Daenerys as you well know is not capacitated to rule at this time and so Mormont and Mopatis have been looking long and hard for this half breed to replace the broken line of the Targaryens. Now they found her; but she would only be a puppet in the hands of the nobility. If they get to her first, we loose. Bringing one woman down would be less troublesome than fighting the lavishness and stubbornness of the Targaryen court later on."

"So you want me to fight with you to defeat a woman?" Khal's voice sounded incredulous.

"One thread breaks from the canvas and it falls apart entirely. One thread is added to the canvas, all others tighten around it. This mere woman proves to me to be more important than the Tekaras themselves and my never ending quarrel with them." Alchantar's voice betrayed the amazement to his words; a little while ago he would have not given up his war against the Tekaras for anything in the world; but now…

Khal finished the second glass, dropping back in his throne. His eyes searched for signs of deceit in Alchantar, fixing him with his impenetrable green gaze. Behind the thick eyebrows his thoughts span slowly like wool on a spindle, weaving a plan.

"Where is she now?"

"In Pentos, my Khalasar."

"So she has the Targaryen army." Khal was thoughtful weighing his chances against the eastern kingdom.

"Your armies are greater!"

"My men need to know why they're fighting, why I am leading them to death. Remind me again, other than your woman, why else am I helping you?"

"Trading, duties, power." Alchantar paused, adding value to his words. "Maybe the unity of the tribes."

"This is what I say we fight for and remember my words for they will weigh heavy on the battle field: I will help you bring balance in Pentos so that we may reason with the Targaryens and keep their piracy at bay. As for the Tekaras, that is still your war to end; my people will not raise against its own kind."

"The Tekaras are not your kind!"

"We are all the children of the Mighty Powers living under the same sun, following the same rules and we have all been given a gift that we must use and value. If the Wolofs have decided to use their fire only to kill, then I shall not be a weapon for them to spread the heat! Am I clear?"

"Yes my Khalasar…"

"I will get my men ready and call for you. Do not come uninvited again or this war will finish before it begins." Khal never looked more serious since Alchantar first set foot in his house that grey morning. The Wolof bowed; he turned around slowly, looking at the council members and he left the room in his proud manner. Behind him, the Khalasar watched the clouds ready to burst again with the anger of the Gods. _Leora…_ The sky tore in two split by a bolt of light launching into the sea. Now the enemy had a new name, no face and this woman intrigued him. The room emptied but he did not see the people bow to him. He was left alone, with an empty cup in his hand and a name echoing in his ears. The rain rushed hitting hard against the walls of the house and Khal listened carefully.

From the borders of Pentos, to the low lands of the Wolofs, in the mists of the woods around Uyack, to the peaks of the Khalur mountains where the Dekelhs learned their mastery skills of deceit, down to the shores of the Dothraki sea, the Gods foretold the future of the four tribes. Fire, Wind, Earth and Water, they would all be stirred by the shifting tides in the destiny of one woman alone.

The humidity rose in the air; her name rained down on him, like watery powder, moist and heavy, sticking onto his eyelids and Khal closed his eyes. So it came with the rain…

**Author's note**

**Straight Edge Queen** – Thanks for the comment on the last chapter! Glad you liked it! MUAH

**Sandradee27** – hahaha girl that was good! Khal is more sex haha I know he is, but I need to build a plot first BUT because you insisted I slipped a small sex scene in this chapter just for you to lavish on. Thank God Khal has many willing mistresses and servants which come very handy to me when I need him to fool around Soon there will be more and yes, Leora is coming his way Much love right back at you!

**Hinaloveer 1010** –where are you girl?


	11. Chap 10  Divide and conquer

**Divide and conquer**

"Keep your back straight! That's right, that's good!" Cedric loosened the rope more, allowing the horse to take a wider spin around the enclosure. "Up Dene, up, look up! Look proud my boy!" He smiled, pleased with the progress the young Wolof had made during the past days; and he was eager to learn more. Cedric glimpsed at his sister standing on the side, watching Dene carefully, startling with every neighing of the horse. Cedric turned his eyes away from her, focusing on the little man grinning from the saddle. "Don't squeeze your knees like that; you're not fighting the horse! Pull harder on the reins!" Cedric rolled the rope around his fists pulling harder forcing the horse to take the turn. "That horse is all by himself, you're not helping him a bit." Dene looked worried that perhaps his riding was poor and it upset Cedric. But the half Wolof, half Tekara general did not seem to mind; his eyes remained fixed on the horse, following its steady steps. His apprentice passed him by and it amused him to see the concern in his brown eyes. "Hang in there little man, hang in there. One more time and we're done for the day!" Dene put all worries aside hearing the encouragement in his teacher's voice.

"And then sword fighting!" Dene giggled moving impatient in the saddle.

"Only if you come down that saddle in one piece. Stop squirming and hold on to the reins. We're not done yet!" Dene obeyed him enthusiastically and soon he finished the last round and Cedric helped him dismount.

"Let's go!" the boy rushed to jump the fence and bring the wooden swords.

"Dene! Dene!" Nersin hurried behind him stumbling in her new red dress. Cedric watched her pull on the long material and she looked gracious and sweet in her efforts to be a lady and a nursing sister at the same time. "You need to eat something first! Come on." Dene froze with the hand on the wooden handle of the sword looking beyond her into Cedric's eyes asking for permission; or more so, for help to make his sister give up her plea. Nersin rolled her eyes annoyed with having to compete with the general for her brother's attention and she turned around visibly bothered by the situation. "He must have something to eat. He barely touched the food this morning! The sun is about to set and he still hasn't had a healthy meal all day! Look at him!" She gestured as to the whole of her brother but without leaving Cedric's eyes. "He's a twig!"

Cedric couldn't help smiling as he brought the horse out of the enclosure.

"He's fine. He has plenty of energy to keep him standing until sunset." He looked up carefully, patting the horse, taking his time to measure the sun's strength. "There is still time for a healthy meal before evening." Behind Nersin, Dene grinned pleased with the help he got. He dragged the swords, carrying them like a prized possession, one under each arm, using his armpit as stopper for the handle to slip in between. Nersin followed him with angry eyes but the image of his skinny back putting so much effort to drag the swords so proudly made her smile. Then her eyes shifted falling on Cedric's back, broad and muscular, and she unwillingly noticed the flexing of the muscles in his arms as he steered the horse into the stables. His dark blonde hair looked messy and sweaty, but glowed healthily in the sun and secretly she denied wanting to curl her fingers in that golden mess. They soon disappeared behind the stable gates and she was left victim of the late afternoon sun. She looked up, sheltering her eyes from the powerful rays. A thunder in the distance. She pierced into the horizon and saw a line of grey clouds rumbling into the skies far away where the heavens touched the dirt. But above her, the sun was still shinning; she wiped the sweat away deciding to go to the kitchen and prepare that healthy late meal for Dene. She would be done by the time their sword fighting ended. She looked at the stable gates again. Maybe she would prepare a meal for him too.

** W**

Her fingers swirled around the wooden handle of the spear and the weapon rotated fast, following the direction her wrist imposed and Leora pursued the sparkle of the metal end as it hit the shy light again and again. The swishing sound of her movements matched the talk of the wind stumbling through the open window. She turned around continuing to move her arm left to right, controlling the spear in her relentless flight, careful at the way she handled it and her heart reflected the thunders outside, feeling the excitement before the battle.

The door opened and Jorah stepped in the throne hall slowly followed by Illyrio but their chit chat stopped abruptly when looking at their new princess fighting the semi obscurity in the room. The guards standing on the side did not dare turn their heads around to watch her slide across the floor, in swift but delicate movements, like a silent warrior with a deadly aim. The tall curtains were blown aside with the repeating gusts of wind and the veils of her long black dress mingled with them as she passed by the large windows, bending and spanning and the two noble men watched her, mesmerized at her skill. Her hair dropped touching the floor as she bent, face down, hands at the back, rotating the spear on top of her spine as if she were a majestic bird of a rare kind. The waves of chestnut locks brushed against the stone pavement, her tiny shoulders arched forcing the elbows to bring about the weapon still spinning fast and dangerous; and she looked up, her eyes fixed into nothingness, praying on what her imagination built before her. A thunder split the skies mirroring in the white of her eyes and for the first time Jorah saw power in them, threat and determination. The rain barged in through the open window moistening her sandals, cooling her feet as they stood out from under the dress. Her arm froze suddenly; she held the spear tight pointing it at the wind, her hair falling down her arms, her eyes still fixed and she breathed heavily.

Illyrio came forward but Jorah's hand in his chest stopped him from taking another step forward. She was battling her inner fears and they should not interfere in such a fragile confrontation. More grave and perilous provocations were about to darken her path and their fate would be decided by who won inside her mind; the abandoned bastard child, or the heir to the throne of the Westeros.

Her lips parted as she watched the pouring rain. She heard her own breathing and for a second felt her eyelids heavy with tears when she remembered Cedric's hands on her shoulders guiding her into what was to come. She now stood alone and had to find the strength to guide herself or it would all be lost. The spear dropped hitting the floor with a loud sound, but she didn't let go completely. She needed to feel its weight in her hand; she needed to feel the harsh wood rub against her palm, to become one with the weapon, to clear her mind of everything and focus on just one thing. She looked at the weapon and held it as if it were a scepter; against the rising storm she would stand tall and undeterred. Slowly her chin went up, her eyes still flickering with remains of fear, her chest still shivering with rumors of a smoldering panic, but she would not give in. Around her, the eye of the window allowed the milky light to bathe her face with the shadows falling from the cloudy skies and she did not bow her eyes to the heavy rain drops dropping on her eyelids.

"Your Majesty…" His words did not break the spell of her new self. She looked at Jorah slowly, real and anchored in reality because for once since she had been dragged into this game, she did not feel as if she were trapped in a nightmare. This was real, this was her life now and she had to come to terms with it and amazingly, it came as a relief to her to realize that she could remain here, in Pentos and not let her mind wonder back to her home village. She bowed her head gently saluting the seniors of the court and Jorah smiled with her initiative. "If your Majesty would care to join us for a short walk…" She gave her spear to one of the guards and pulled her dress tighter around her body, pushing her long hair back. She took a moment to consider the best course of action but she could still not fully agree to the manners of the court, so she used the back of her sleeve to dry the thin sweat layer on her forehead. Her cheeks were burning with her training effort, her eyes shone with the satisfaction and she felt lighter than ever; a small mannerism problem was her last concern.

Illyrio closed the door behind them and hurried to catch Jorah and Leora from behind.

"My Lady, please have my cap to keep you warm. This wind is treacherous!" Jorah rushed his hands to the golden pins holding the cape together but she hurried to refuse him.

"Do not take this the wrong way Jorah, but you need it more than I do." And her smile impeded him from misinterpreting her words. "You don't seem too concerned with healing your coughing; and I need you… so keep it and keep warm." She padded him slowly on the back of his hand walking away, defying the chill of the stormy afternoon. "Will it stop soon?" She looked out in the garden as they walked on the terrace but the small rivers running under and through the alleys didn't' bring her much hope.

"I hope so my Lady. We could use the sun now."

"Yes…" She turned around with her back against the pillar supporting the roof above their heads and the poison ivy leaves fretted around her shoulders, spilling the weight of the rain drops on her arms. She rubbed the moist away keeping her eyes on Illyrio who looked carefully around to see if anyone else was listening to their conversation. He came close, using his staff for support and Leora wondered what kind of men these two had been in their youth if now they looked so calm and wise and untroubled in their ways. Were they ever impulsive and reckless? Did they ever fear? She found it hard to imagine them differently, but it made her wonder if she was the only one finding it hard to adapt to a new life and challenges.

"What troubles you Leora?" Jorah smiled with a wink and she was surprised with such an affectionate gesture coming from the Iron Hand of the Targaryen court.

"My peaceful existence my Lord!" and the men chuckled, enjoying the joke as a response to an obvious tease. "In truth my Lords, I was wondering, and do not mind for my young and possibly mindless intrusion, but I was wondering whether when you were my age, you feared like I fear, or acted chaotically like I do?..."

Jorah looked back at Illyrio and the Magister smiled, lowering his head.

"We were, if you pardon me my Lady, even more indecent in our ways back when we were young."

"Indecent…" Illyrio laughed at Jorah's words. "We were a gathering of lunatic bastards enraged and impulsive, fighting to undo wrong and there was a lot of wrong to undo, but then again we were so young…"

Jorah poked Illyrio and Leora hid a grin looking down fast, humored by their childish quarrel.

"We have all been where you are my Lady, or even worse. Don't fear youth, it gives the strength in your arms."

"So what if you get in trouble for being impulsive! It is how things get done; with the help of people like you, who don't give it much thought and just go for it!" Illyrio toyed with his cane on the floor enjoying the little conversation they were having and Jorah joined him in the excitement.

"Thank you my Lord, for being so kind to me."

"We're old dogs, my Lady. We curl at the feet of a gentle master for we do not wish to suffer the whip of a tyrant!" Illyrio continued the string of his advices and Leora appraised him with her kind smile. Her eyes turned towards the falling curtains of rain and her mind strayed for a bit.

"Is Khal Drogo a tyrant? I've heard so much of him, but never that he is a tyrant, but a valiant warrior, brutal. Vicious in battle. Is he cruel?" her eyes came back wondering and Jorah did not look away.

"He is, to those who deny him what he wants."

"So he is a tyrant."

"Even tyrants can be of many kinds, Leora. Some, the likes of Alchantar, will go at length to get what they want and they will kill and step on corpses if they must. Khal Drogo is a barbarian with a code of honor. He does not claim what it is not his and he works hard to defend what he already has. And when he does so, he is merciless." Jorah joined her to look outside the terrace. The rain didn't sooth a bit the truth in his words.

"What does his code of honor stand for if he kills to defend it?"

"You fought against the Wolofs my Lady and you killed to defend what you honor." Leora looked at her hands gripping on the wooden rail. Her lips twitched, gathering together, considering his words. "Does that make you a killer?"

"Maybe…"

Jorah turned to look at her and she took a moment before responding his demanding eyes.

"We do what we must to survive and keep our people safe. Khal does the same, only harsher. He is a terrifying warrior."

Leora smiled, blushing.

"And I must face him in war?"

Jorah grinned with a bitter forced smile, shying away for having described the Dothraki chieftain so bluntly and inconsiderately to her feelings.

"I hope not…"

"You hope or you know?" and it was her turn to demand an answer from Jorah, but Illyrio took over, stepping at his friend's side.

"My Lady, it is useless to lie. Khal Drogo should be on his way here as we speak."

Leora looked troubled and her eyes escaped Illyrio's, looking for more courage where there was none.

"The good news is that he is probably coming alone." Illyrio observed her closely to see the effect of his words on her, but Leora's face remained undeterred, listening carefully. "And by alone I mean without the other tribes. Not all of them at least." He paused and hesitated for a long time before speaking again. "But Alchantar Wolof will surely join him."

Leora turned around abruptly facing both of them and her eyes sparkled with ignited fury.

"That scum of a man will pay for his treachery! It was him bringing this war upon us and upon my people! If he is so honorable and righteous, why does Khal listen to him? Why does he seek war with us?" her voice reached a higher note and she wished she had that spear in her hand to throw it hard and long and plant it in the imbued soil stretching before her eyes. But instead she hit her fist against the pylon and the ivy leaves shed more tears on her dress. She had fired up like Jorah had never seen her and he loved it and feared it at the same time. Her desire for revenge could get her killed when facing Khal. He knew that Alchantar in his cunning ways, would let the weight of the war be carried by Drogo's more powerful armies and he would keep the leftovers for himself. He did not care to bleed in a war so big, just to win, but Leora was too young and unprepared to know that.

"My Lady, you are yet to grow and learn of the ways of the Wolofs. Fighting them is one thing, knowing their mind is another and Alchantar has the skills to convince even Khal of the righteousness of his demands."

"Have you sent scouts in Karok? Has anyone told you that the Dothraki are coming?" her voice sounded a bit admonishing; she did not want to play this game by the ear and would avoid at all costs a confrontation if she could. "I do not want panic in the city just on speculations. I will not raise an army and leave women and children crying in their homes, just to have the men standing like fools before the gates of Pentos waiting for a war that will never come!"

"Leora!" Jorah's voice made her lower hers and she ran her hand through the damp long curls, rolling them in an improvised pony tail and Illyrio recognized the signs of anguish in her gesture. "We have been around for too long not to know how tribe rulers think. Smoke does not rise without stirring a fire and we have all heard the rumors. And there is more to the rumors that I shall not speak of now for whatever was said, was said and is no longer important -"

" - If I am to fight this war as your queen then I must know everything!" and she was adamant in her request. "Whatever was said and done is what brought us here! The past shows in the present and will reflect our future; even an unaware young woman like myself knows that!"

The noble men looked at each other in approval and Jorah sighed with the imminent reply.

"There has been an informant, a Dakelh called Kanza. He was sent to Alchantar with news of your arrival here."

"Who sent him?"

But Jorah paused, not knowing whether this was a good time to tell her.

"I will let you know in due time my Lady. You are needed for more important issues right now, but stay assured I have my eyes on those who betrayed our country." Jorah's words seemed strongly supported by Illyrio's fixed look on her and she gave it a thought whether to accept their explanation or linger on it.

"I shall want to be a part of this when it is all over. I want to see them punished."

"And you shall, I promise you."

Leora sighed and the air came out, long and hard out of her lungs, compressed by the news of being betrayed before she could even be formally named their Queen. The roots of evil ran deeper than she thought.

"What else is there that I do not know of?"

"The plan." And Illyrio brought the conversation back to him, flanking Leora on the side and Jorah was happy to take a break and take care of his disturbing coughing and nausea.

"The plan?" She seemed a bit confused, but surely the Magister was going to fill her in with the details.

"We know for sure that the traitors knew of you before you arrived at the court and they sold the information to Alchantar. And I believe Alchantar went to Khal spilling venom, infecting him against you."

"That makes no sense." Leora took a few steps back and forth, working her mind to come up with a clear image of what was going on and the bits and pieces of information she had helped too little. "Pentos was ruled by kings and queens long before I came here. If they were no threat to the tribes before, why would I be now?"

Jorah opened his mouth to speak but Leora gestured him to a silent halt and he bowed his eyes, waiting for her to rummage through her knowledge and put the maze together herself.

"The tribes…" she struggled; it was hard putting things together when she didn't know much. "My tribe has never had any business with Pentos. And there are only four of us. If the Tekaras weren't an enemy and Drogo never stepped in before to claim anything of Pentos, then who's left?" She took a deep breath. "The Dakelh would never come down from the mountains to seek riches and power, they… they lead their lives differently than the rest of us." She spanned and looked in the men's eyes and her tone reverberated with mild despair. "Not even Alchantar would venture to attack the Westeros; it's too much for him to swallow!"

"That's why he needs the Dothraki."

"You said it yourself Jorah! Drogo never attacked anyone before without good reason. And I don't think I am that reason! He could have challenged Viserys while he was alive, he could've raised his armies against Daenerys! Why didn't he? What did I do to this man to cause him so much trouble that he would join Alchantar in his vengeful quest?" Her jaw blocked with rage and her fists clenched now that she had one thing clear.

"Not you… You didn't do anything to him." Her eyes followed Jorah's as he went about to look at Illyrio going silent all of a sudden. The rain sounded loud in the silence between the three of them and she waited patiently but it seemed neither of the two would have the courage to speak.

"What happened, Jorah? Magister?" Jorah coughed in his fist, avoiding her eyes but Illiryo decided she should know and faced her bravely. "Who, in Pentos, stirred the tribes before my arrival?"

** W**

Cedric ate silently, watching her wipe Dene's mouth; a smile sprang in the corner of his lips seeing the little one gorging down food as if a pack of wolves were fighting for survival in his mouth. Maybe she was right and he should have eaten more often. The chicken stew drew his attention back to the flavor and he indulged in the exquisite taste, admiring her cooking skills. He took another mouth full and tried to remember when he had enjoyed food so much lately; in silence. His nostrils inhaled the delicious smell and he felt like a small child himself. His eyes ran back to her. The cordon of her dress was wrapped tightly around her waist but the red dress didn't betray much from the contours of her body. Her knees shifted under when she tried to follow Dene in his restless playing around when eating, and Cedric let his eyes pursue her movement, up her round hips, to the small waist and round breasts that against the legerity of the dress, could not be contained or hidden. He lavished for a moment feeling like a young prick, staring at girls bathing from behind hey stacks or trees. Her eyes turned to him and he quickly went back to his stew.

Nersin sighed dropping the napkin; Dene would have his way, being messy as a pig. She looked at him and giggled. A pig twig! She rushed to place a kiss on his temple and he enjoyed it grinning with tomato seeds stuck between his teeth. She took her bowl and allowed herself a moment to enjoy the smell of the fresh parsley. She picked the egg whites first and chewed on it slowly; she liked the sweet taste of it; then found a piece of meat and scooped it up in the spoon. It was hot and it stung her tongue. She opened her mouth immediately and steam came out. She inhaled quickly hoping the cool air would help. Dene started laughing with tomato sauce dripping down his chin. Nersin's gargoyle eyes admonished him, but at no avail.

"Yes, it's hot!" the little boy started laughing pointing at her with his dirty spoon and little red drops fell to her face. Nersin reached for him and Cedric chuckled in his corner watching the scene.

"Take… Dene!" she couldn't swallow and she cautiously sank her teeth in the piece of meet before mincing it.

"I can't hear you!" Dene laughed harder spilling the remainder of the stew on his pants.

"Dene! Put that away!' her voice had come backafter she swallowed and Nersin rushed to wipe the food away but it only smudged it more. "Ah, Dene, when will ever stand still and have some manners when you eat?" Now she sounded serious.

"It will wash of Nersin!" Dene smiled happy, salvaged again and Cedric answered his giggle with a playful wink. Nersin turned around and her eyes were torture whenever she stared at him like that.

"And do you think his clothes wash off by themselves?" Cedric stared in turn looking like a fool, caught unarmed.

"Ah…"

"No! They don't!" She pouted but if she thought she looked menacing or convincing, she only looked ridiculous in her feminine upraise.

Cedric burst into laughter.

"He's just a boy!"

"_He_ is just a boy! What about you?" Cedric stopped laughing suddenly and looked down where she was pointing and saw the red drops on his knees. Dene rushed to look as well, going on his knees, almost sticking his face to Cedric's pants.

"Cedric, you got food on your pants too!" he rolled on his back laughing, exaggerating as usual but still funny and Nersin's demeanor changed.

"Enough, both of you!" she pulled Dene up but because he was now the center of attention he cuddled closer to her, hanging from her neck asking for kisses and she almost lost balance falling off her chair. Cedric caught her and helped her up, scooping her brother as well. Now the three of them were standing, still chuckling, with Dene's arms curled around Cedric's waist and Nersin gently pressed against his chest. And Cedric kept the smile going for just a little longer to give himself time to squeeze her in his arms a little more. But it died out, their joy, and she pushed away shyly, hiding his eyes from you. "Go wash your hands and don't even think you're going to bed without bathing!"

"Nersin!" Dene took out his bunny pleading face but his sister remained firm.

"Don't Nersin me young man! Go wash. I'll prepare the bath!" Dene left, dragging his feet purposefully and Nersin watched him disapprovingly. When she turned around Cedric was pouring water in a large vessel, gathering all their bowls and spoons together. "What are you doing?"

"Washing the dishes."

Nersin almost fell back with the shock from a general saying that. She couldn't even conceive him thinking it, less saying it out loud. She immediately rushed to her knees, taking the bowls away from his hands.

"No! I'll do it!" she threw them feverishly into the water almost turning his back at him to chase him away from such womanly chorus.

"Nersin, go prepare the bath. I'll do it." His voice was calm and warm. _Warm…_ she lingered on that feeling, creeping up her spine and on the back of her head, making her lose focus.

"This is not your job" she blurted the words out softly.

"And it is yours?"

"I am a woman."

"You are a guest." She remained silent not knowing what to answer. She turned her head to the side, enough to get a glimpse of him and he bent forward for her to see more of him.

"You have taken me in and took care of me, gave me and my brother a place to stay when we needed it the most. I must repay you. I have no other skills other than this…" and she looked down at her hands sticking out of the water. Cedric put his arms around her and Nersin didn't expect it and she froze. Behind her, Cedric supported his weight on his knee to bend forward and hold her hands in his. He looked over her shoulder at how their fingers curled together and he enjoyed the water dripping between them.

"I haven't always been a general Nersin… And there was a time when my hands didn't know much either. But times change and you might be surprised with what these hands can do." He could swear she shivered against his chest and he held his breath to feel it again; and there it was. A slight tremble of her body wrapped within the circle of his arms. He wanted to smile but could not afford such intimacy when being so close to her. Sometimes she thought Nersin was a wild animal, tame enough to spend time close to him, but savage still to flee at the first sign of intrusion. But the row of thoughts got interrupted when he felt her leaning back gently, against him and he accepted her weight cautiously not knowing what to make of it.

"Do you think these hands can kill?" she paused and he didn't move waiting for her to open up to him. "I've hurt people before…"

"We have all hurt people before. And other people have hurt us."

"I can't kill anyone. I don't want to."

"If you're not given another choice, then you must. We have responsibilities to ourselves and to our loved ones."

Nersin sighed thinking at Dene. His laughter flew in with the evening air and her eyes saddened with the prospectus of ever losing him or leaving him behind in the hands of strangers. She turned around abruptly almost sending him to the ground.

"Do you have a family? Brothers, sisters? Parents? Anyone that you love?" Her eyes were inquisitive like those of a child, confused, looking for a simple answer to her fears.

"I used to. Just parents. No siblings."

"Where are they?"

"Dead."

"You do not seem affected… by their loss." And she feared offending him with her words.

"It happened a long time ago."

Nersin's head fell down and he couldn't follow her eyes anymore; she went too deep below and he gave her the space to find herself.

"At least you can visit their grave and mourn."

Cedric smiled and for once it tasted bitter on his lips.

"Yes…"

"Why so bitter?" She sat down facing him and Cedric rested his arms on his knees looking at her, curious about him. He took a deep breath, submitting to her innocent inquisition.

"I do not have much time to mourn. I do not wish to mourn. They had a beautiful life; they were beautiful people and shared a lot of love. A lot of sacrifice too. This is not how they should be remembered; through crying and regrets." He looked at her in a way that made her unease but she waited for him to continue. "My father, Lesser, was from these lands, a Tekara. My mother, Sota…" he looked at her again this time gently licking his lips, with a pending smile and something inside her quickened "… she was a Wolof, like you."

Nersin startled shortly and her interest was stirred even more.

"You've been fighting your own people all this time."

"They are not my people, the Wolofs. They are scavengers living off the hard work of others."

"I am not like that!" her voice encouraged him to a more positive look on his mother's heritage.

"Neither was my mother. But she suffered greatly for being different. Just like you."

Nersin avoided his eyes. She was not ready to confess in him, or to reveal the ordeal she had been through in Karok.

"So she fled here…"

"She tried but was jailed at the border. The Tekaras raided the Wolof Wall and found her imprisoned. My father took her with him."

"As a slave." And her eyes flickered menacingly making Cedric smiled lightly to her impulsiveness.

"Perhaps. All I know is that they grew to love each other and thirty five years later, they were still holding hands when going to bed." He chuckled. "I wish for that kind of slavery."

"Don't be a fool!" Nersin turned around abruptly starting to wash the dishes. "There are many who use love as a tool to enslave you! And there is nothing sweet about it!" She rubbed the cloth around and inside the bowl, vigorously putting all of her focus on the same repetitive movement. Cedric came next to her and took another bowl, mimicking her gestures. Slowly, she calmed down and looked at him with guilty eyes.

"You have to trust people more." He didn't look at her, continuing to wash the dishes, kneeled at her side.

She paused, still keeping her eyes on him then spoke and her words took him by surprise.

"Fire makes fire grow and the wind stirs it even more. I cannot trust you."

He chuckled and finally met her gaze.

"_I _should not trust you." And she looked just as puzzled. "I have the wind and the fire and can control them both. Now you came and ruined that balance." Against his words stood his comforting smile and they didn't scare her. She looked away putting one clean bowl aside.

"I have no balance so you ruined me completely." And this time Cedric refrained from chuckling or smiling, happy he could get even that insignificant confession out of her.

"Beyond our beliefs and fears, we must learn to work together, you and I; because soon we will have to."

"I am not good for war."

"No one is." They shared another look and she smiled retreating in her shell. She had seen him with his men and he was not kind at times. He was demanding and harsh. So what side of him could she trust? Cedric finished washing a bowl and handed it to her. Their hands touched and they stared at each other momentarily. _I wish you weren't kind to me so I don't have to hate you later…_ Outside, nature started crying; the sun was finally defeated.

** W**

Leora kept a steady look on Jorah waiting for him to answer her question.

"The Targaryens have always been a large people, the richest nation in the East. Yet, in time, it did not suffice for some." Jorah spoke mildly as they walked along the terrace. The rain seemed to have calmed its earlier fury and pretences of sun dared make their way through the thick cloud blanket.

"Some? Can you be more elusive than that Sir Mormont?" Leora admonished him gently in her impatience to learn the truth.

"Viserys. He went on his own to hunt for more power than his throne already gave him."

"How could he when he had you at his side! Why did you allow him to?"

"The court has always been divided into those seeking for a ruler to play by their rules and those against them. We were the ones against and Viserys pushed us aside. One word from the King and there is not much we could do." Illyrio nodded in confirmation of Jorah's words.

"You are seniors of this court; you cannot be dismissed so easily!"

"We can, if the King demands!" Illyrio spoke fast in his usual manner, for he was a man of the law and knew the rules better than anyone.

"So what did Viserys do to enrage the tribes?"

Jorah stopped for a breath of fresh air and looked in the distance hoping that patch of sunshine found the strength to push through the dark skies.

"Everything the Northern Kingdoms trade with us passes through the gates of this realm. And Viserys used that to gain more profit. He increased the taxes on trade, he established the main markets in Pentos and helped close the main trading routes leading to the tribes scattered across the land. His decision hit hard against the Dakelhs and infuriated the Wolofs the most. Your people are small and hard working and have the help of the land to survive; the lake, the forests, the plains. The Wolofs may have their benefits in Karok but they have never been much of the working kind. They are tradesmen, it's what they do best and they loved to come up with their own rules, so they can add a bit more to the price. But once Viserys increased the taxes, the merchandise grew so expensive they couldn't afford adding their own taxes anymore."

"So they went to war against us, thinking we are small and we''ll give in easily so they can plunder at free will!" Leora's voice resounded still with mocking anger.

"That and the fact that Alchantar will always be a vengeful man and your adoptive father had always stood up to him –" Jorah turned around smiling to look in her eyes "- and that my dear child, is something one just does not do to a Wolof."

"Well this Tekara will!" Illyrio coughed to attract attention to him and his pride to hear her speak like that. Leora walked in silence a few more steps thinking through what she had learnt so far. "So Viserys wanted more without considering what his decisions might bring upon his people."

"Well, he thought it would bring riches, but surely enough, he failed to it would not enrich his people. Just _some _people." Jorah resumed his coughing to continue talking.

"Is this what killed him? His greed?"

"Greed has many worshipers who can carry out fowl deeds in its name."

"Was it the tribes? Or someone inside?"

"We do not know for sure, but I have my suspects."

"How many traitors can one city hold?" Leora looked childish in her exasperation.

"Pentos never runs short of them. When one is gone another will rise to take his place."

Leora sighed resting against the wood work of the terrace. The rain had finally stopped and the sun was making its way into the garden. The water shone on the green grass and the roses sparkled with immense beauty in shades of red and yellow.

"Is it too late to change it all? To give a fair trading to the people and have them regain their rights?" she seemed lost; she didn't believe her own words.

"It is never too late, my Lady."

"With Drogo on his way here, how can it not be too late? That man is coming here for war."

"But you are here for peace." Jorah spoke slowly, enhancing every word and she turned around to look at him. "Maybe you can be the voice of reason and make him see there is another way."

"I thought I alone was a dreamer in the world Sir Mormont. But I see age has not taught you enough in some aspects. No man would travel for so long, carry armies and supplies across the prairies, nor leave their own land unprotected to come here and negotiate." She smiled shyly. "No man."

"Khal Drogo is no mere man. He is a chieftain and he believes and values the same things in life you do and he will listen to the ruler of Pentos if the ruler goes to him."

Leora frowned with a sudden thought invading her mind.

"But he does not know… he does not know about Daenerys! He thinks she is the leader, not me. I am just a threat to the throne, not the Princess of the Westeros! He won't be looking for me!"

"Exactly." The noble men stared at her without flinching.

"You knew this! You thought of it all along! Damn you, Jorah, damn you!" She span, gesturing madly, out of control. "And for just a moment I had thought you gave me a choice, I thought I was gaining control, but this is all part of your plan! _Your_ strategy!" and she pointed at the two men still motionless before her.

"It's a plan that will save us and your people back at home."

"What are you talking about?" and she was angry.

"I am saying that as soon as Alchantar Wolof has his way with the Targaryens with Khal's help he will go for the Tekaras next. There is a good chance for that to happen, and you know it."

Leora breathed in and out fast, trying to decide whether to yell at them and leave or stay and listen.

"Explain yourself!"

"Khal does not know Daenerys is dead. And Khal does not know how Daenerys looks like either."

"But Alchantar does!"

"Patience my Lady! Allow me to finish." Jorah insisted keeping his eyes with hers and she fretted under the pressure of his gaze. "If we send word to Alchantar that your plea to take the throne was refused and you had returned to your village, then he would go after you leaving Khal to fight us alone."

"Send word to him?..." she seemed even more confused. "He will play with the heads of messengers before they get to speak!"

"Leave that to us and no one will be hurt. I know my way around the shady streets of Karok."

"So do I go back?"

"No, you stay here and face Khal."

Her lips trembled; in fact she felt her entire body shake. She took a deep breath in but did not find the strength to speak.

"Khal will be convinced that he fights Daenerys, the Targaryen princess and with the news of her demise, he will be sure to have an easy victory. He will not expect you." And something in Jorah's words made her feel good. "By the time Alchantar reaches your people and realizes you're not there, we would have gained enough time with Drogo and hopefully our way out of this war."

"Let me… let me say this again." Leora stepped back and forth, pressing down her temples in the attempt to find the simplest way to rephrase what Sir Mormont had just asked of her. "You want to lie to Alchantar Wolof that I have returned home so he can follow me there and start a war against my people, while I stay here and lie to the Dothraki that I am Daenerys and face Khal in combat. And all this to the bitter hope that I could somehow, make peace with Khal Drogo, the fierce barbarian chieftain, while Alchantar tears through my village!"

"More or less…" Illyrio looked away and Jorah hid his eyes as well, knowing how heavy this burden weighed.

"Are you mad?"

"This was the plan when we left Uyack, wasn't it? That Nersin would take your place to deceive Alchantar for as long as possible and keep him away from this battle field!"

"You have too much faith in me, Jorah!" she yelled the words out hoping to make him fall back in his trust of her.

"Yes I do."

"By the Gods, man!" she turned around looking across the gardens. The sun had survived the storm and it caressed her pale cheeks, drained by the future laid before her. Leora closed her eyes and remembered the feeling of the spear in her hand, the swish, the strength. She clenched her fists as hard as she could. It was easy to divide, but so much harder to conquer. Slowly her forehead relaxed, her eyes pierced into the horizon as clear as the rain drops lingering on the poison ivy leaves. _Coward!_ Cedric would suffer just as much; her people would be in danger just like her!

"What would you have me do?"

"I met a new girl this morning. A girl I suspected to be there, but you never showed her to me." Jorah came close to her.

Leora remained silent, but bowed her eyes. She knew what he meant.

"That girl must go to war and this girl -" he took her hand in his "- must take the throne."

"The two girls are one and the same, Jorah…" Jorah smiled parentally.

"Your father's throne will ask for blood and understanding; will ask for rage and compassion. Bring the warrior and the healer with you and together they will find a way to Khal's heart."

Leora smiled but in the depth of her being she feared this man; this Khalasar she had heard so much of; even the warrior inside her wished for peace rather than facing him. But she was not given that choice.

"Alert Cedric and Ortezza of the plan." She paused still looking into the horizon. "I doubt Nersin will want to be on our side. And I cannot ask her to fight her own people, no matter what she says."

"Your general is half Wolof and still he was at your side for years now fighting your war against his own kind."

"It's not the same."

"There are some things in the world that never change." Leora looked at Jorah still holding her hand; his hands were cold and she cushioned them in hers. "The feeling of belonging is one of them and he knows his place."

"Nersin is fresh to this conflict. I cannot make her part of it. I offered her refuge –"

"You offered her a home! A place to belong to and she knows that. Don't worry about her; she's in good hands."

Leora bowed in defeat to his persuasive arguments.

"I have not even been named your Queen, yet I speak of war on the Targeryens' behalf!"

"I wouldn't worry about that either. In times of war not a lot of people are eager to take the lead. I have a feelingthat now, that we must face the tribes, there will not be many to complain against your rule."

Illyrio chuckled and Leora liked this shadowy figure always around, rather silent, but skilful and schooled.

"Rest, my dear Lady for tomorrow will be different than today." Illyrio patted her arm nodding. He then took a step back moving slowly out of the terrace.

"Once the rumors reach Karok, the Wolof blaze will be upon us soon."

"How soon?"

"The messengers leave tonight. It will take Alchantar less than a week to reach your people."

"And Khal?"

"It doesn't take more than two weeks to arrive to Pentos from the Dothraki Sea. Maybe a bit more."

"So Cedric has to buy us at least another two weeks before Alchantar finds out!"

Jorah confirmed and she sighed, worried with the fragility of their plan.

"And that only if he takes the bait…"

"Oh, he will! If I know Alchantar, and I believe I do, he will not miss the opportunity to corner you when you are weakest!"

Illyrio stopped a few steps away mocking at Jorah.

"Or so he thinks! Weakest… pff!"

"Don't mind him, he's an old fool!" Leora giggled and it seemed impossible she could even smile with all this craziness at hand.

"We are all fools in a game of luck Jorah! That's what we are!"

"We make our own luck my Lady, the Gods never give us any. They like it better this way, to see us struggle –"

"- and survive!" Illyrio finished the sentence for his friend on the same scorning tone and Leora fell back against the ivy amused with her advisers. Her eyes turned to the sun again. She never knew how to interpret the signs of nature, the messages her ancestors sent in the rain drops or sun rays, in the storm clouds or the gusts of wind. And this time it was no different; otherwise why would she think that Khal was a bearer of light, now that he was on his way to see her, bringing the sun along with his armies; and perhaps her death sentence.

**Author's note**

**Sandradee27** – Happy you enjoyed it Khal fooling around with his women hehe As for Dani yes, unfortunately she wasn't really well, but her death is only the beginning of Leora's new life as you well guessed.

**Teflonheart** – hey there, good to have you aboard! And glad to hear you find it interesting… I find it interesting as well whenever I have to read back every single time I write another chapter so I make sure I don't forget where I've left my characters last haha it gets confusing at times. And yes, Leora and Khal will meet soon enough. One step at a time

**LiliAnn Jackson** – hey girl, sure enough they will meet soon, I promise. Let's say a couple of more chapters and THE encounter will happen. Unfortunately I have to bring everyone else together. It's like playing chess with this story, I have to position all the pieces in the proper location for the game to fall into place But as I said, soon

**Straight Edge Queen** – Thanks sweets! Yeah, haha I know, they'll meet, they'll hate, and fight, and love each other and learn together… but one thing at a time. And trust me, this is not going to take 40 chapters like in **Death is just another beginning** hahah. I still don't know when the heck I ever got the time and the patience to write that much!

**First Lady Lestat** – first of all, your name reminds me of one of my favorite characters in Anne Rice's stories, the vampire Lestat and the movie Queen of the damned. But then again Louis in Interview with a Vampiremakes my day hahaha. Now, going back to the story, I'm glad you like it. When I started writing this, after a few chapters I didn't have any reviewers and I felt kind of lonely but I insisted on writing more, because Khal is really inspirational to me as a character. So I'm glad that I did, cause now I have all of you guys to share with and improve. I am adding more strength to Leora's character as the story progresses. But her strength will come from someone else (wink ) if you know what I mean MUAH


	12. Chap 11  Wind, water, fire, earth

**Wind, Fire, Water, Earth**

**Or the Uprising of the Elements**

Nersin ran the tip of her fingers down the chain metal and the coldness of the armor sent chills up her arm. She reached the bottom and pulled on a corner trying to lift it up and her muscles tensioned with the effort. She dropped it releasing the air in her lungs and took a step back looking at the protective covering lying on the wooden pole. The leather belt set aside was almost as wide as her palm and the enlarged holes in it betrayed the weight it must've carried in battle; the sword and the daggers, the sheath. She went about the room looking at the weapons arranged orderly, from swords, to knives and maces, from helmets to gloves, from breast plates to leg fenders, from spears to bows. She took another step back and hit a box behind her and almost lost balance. She let her body slide slowly on it, still captivated with the silence of the armory room. In her head she could hear the metal clash, she could hear the battle cries and it seemed eerie to her that all these weapons looked so clean and stood so motionless. She went up abruptly to pick up a sword bringing the blade up to her eyes, inspecting it carefully as if she expected to see blood dried in the scratches of the metal. She walked her finger up and down the blade; it shone strangely, with a glacial sparkle she did not enjoy. She twisted the weapon a bit and ran the tip on the edge of the blade.

"Be careful –"

Nersin startled; her finger slipped on the blade and a drop of blood dripped down her finger before she could even feel the sting.

"- it's sharp…" Cedric put the bucket down and came to look at the cut. He placed the sword back in the wooden hanger still holding her hand with his. Nersin scooped her apron up trying to wrap it around the finger. "Wait! No, no, leave that!"

"I've done this before, you know?" she said admonishingly.

"What? Cut your finger?" but she couldn't fight his smile, not when he looked in her eyes from so close.

"No, bandage…" Nersin hated herself for the weakness in her voice. Cedric pulled the apron from her hand and she didn't know what to do with her empty hand now, holding it up in the air, undecided.

"It's dirty. It would only get infected."

"It's just a scratch."

"Even a scratch can kill when you are a soldier." He squeezed the tip of her finger between his to force the edges of the cut open and she squirmed with the pain.

"Ouch!" Nersin found a use for her empty hand using it to push his away and get her wounded hand back.

"It hurts a lot for a little scratch doesn't it?" Cedric didn't look at her, but smiled, rotating her finger to see how deep the cut was.

"You are… you are…" _too sweet to me!_ She felt a wave of blush surging in her cheeks so she looked away. "You are too good to me. It makes me feel spoiled."

"I see. I better stop then." He made her follow him and when they reached the bucket he sank her finger in the cold water.

"Ouch!" The ice pins stung her open wound like mad and she jerked her hand away but at no avail; Cedric had a good hold on her. She fell to her knees, breathing hard, but little by little the pain went away, her hand got numb and she didn't feel the pain anymore. He wrapped her finger in his clean handkerchief and she enjoyed the warmth of the material. He had worn it in his breast pocket, close to his heart. Nersin lowered her guilty eyes and let him take care of the cut.

"If you are to help us in this war, then you must show more resilience."

"I am not like Leora. I have not been raised to be a soldier." And she sounded caught between reproach and the shame of being weak when she knew she could do better. She tried to get up and leave, but wouldn't let her; but he didn't force her to look at him, because he knew she'd listen.

"Leora was not raised to be a soldier. She was raised to be a leader."

"Leaders judge but they also kill; they are soldiers when they are not rulers." Nersin looked at him and her green eyes seemed too clear and soft that morning and Cedric indulged in her gaze for a moment.

"Some leaders spend a lifetime of peace, never knowing war. Others fight and kill when it is asked of them. And there are others who live to fight and live to kill. I hope Leora leads a lifetime of peace, but if she must she will pick up the sword and fight."

"What about you? What kind of leader are you?" and he wished she looked away; he found it hard to focus with her staring that way.

"I am no leader and I do not wish to be one. With these two hands I serve my people, fight for what I love and defend what's mine. I could not decide who lives or dies; I do not wish to bare such blame."

"Yet when you kill someone, you decide his fate."

"He would have decided that fate for himself the moment he came into battle. The same way I do. Soldiers know their choices." He paused, breaking from her eyes for a moment. "And there are few choices."

"I don't want to be a leader and I don't want to be a soldier." And for a moment she sounded like Dene.

"So what do you want to be?" Cedric could finally sustain her look, now that he let her slip deeper in his heart.

"Happy." He felt like that one breath coming out of his lips would be his last one for many moments to come, because that word leaving her plump lips, spoken in such a sweet voice, took that breath away from him. And he wished he sealed her mouth with his and assure her that she would be happy; somehow. So much sadness in her eyes, it hypnotized him and Cedric felt pulled down by gravitation, unconscious to the place, the time, his role, his advice, nothing mattered other than the silence of the morning and her eyes staring like gems into the light. His lips parted as he came closer prepared to absorb all that moist on her lips and Nersin remained paralyzed in his gaze, like a butterfly in a spider web; her mind struggled to break free from the spell, but her body rejected its plea. Her eyes closed and it felt weird not looking at him anymore, but he had gotten so close, his breath was now warming her face and she enjoyed the replacement.

The contours and shape of her face blurred, slowly turning darker as his eyelids let go of the light sinking into darkness and Cedric let his senses guide him. Her breath finally met his and a flicker of madness stroke behind his closed eyelids, like a bolt of light trying to warn him before it was too late. His nose touched hers; his mouth folded hers, so gently she thought it wasn't happening. Cedric parted his lips more and applied enough pressure to suck on her mouth, just to feel her and that sweetness that had haunted him for days. Her mouth got stuck to his, her air supply died with that last one breath before the plunge and she froze enjoying their touch, so light, so sensual and so surreal. But Cedric couldn't resist the temptation; he released her and right before she dropped an inch back the tip of his tongue slid rapidly between the crevasse of her rich lips and she felt the its moist and hotness, sending her back brutally to a reality that now confused her even more.

"Ah…"

"General!" The soldier barged in bowing, careless at their intimacy. He stood in the light and the room went dark all of a sudden. Nersin jolted her body against the shields kicking one to the ground. Cedric pulled back, dizzy, annoyed and angered with the interruption. He covered his eyes to look against the partial sun coming through the door, piercing above the soldier's shoulders.

"Yes!"

"My Lord, pardon the intrusion. A messenger is waiting for you."

Cedric got up dusting his clothes off and reached for Nersin to help her up but she hurried to get on her feet herself, refusing his help. He wished they were alone so he can talk to her; he must've scared her. "Who's part?"

"My Lady Leora." And the general remained silent and motionless for a moment. _Leora!_

"Go! I'm coming!" he waved the soldier away, but even when he left he couldn't pull himself together. He was excited and happy to have news from her, his apprentice, his lady; his fearful lady.

Nersin read the emotion in his eyes and looked away innerved and hurt. _Why hurt, you stupid, stupid…! Argh…!_

"Nersin, I –"

"- Go! You don't need to explain yourself to me!" and her voice cut him off short and from excitement he went to anger. His hands came up ready to gesture his words but she looked away stubbornly giving him no chance to repent. It was all too obvious and she did not want to listen to his lies. His hands dropped slowly, his lips gathered together ready to curse, but he made an effort to refrain and stormed out of the door. Behind him Nersin, pressed her wounded hand against her chest. She started feeling the pulsation of the cut again, rhythmic and deep, like her heart.

It took him a bit before getting used to the light again. His earlier happiness was short lived; his anger at Nersin's stubbornness took over and his thoughts went back to her and their almost first kiss. _First! Pff! There won't be another!_ Cedric stepped hard, rising the dust behind him and the soldier barely kept up with him.

The man looked like a commoner, dressed in brownish cloth, of poor quality and Cedric almost passed him by in his blinding anger.

"My Lord!" The soldier's voice brought him back and he turned around menacing, making the messenger take a step back. Cedric came closer measuring him from head to toe as if he wanted to learn what he had to say just by looking at him.

"Uncover your face, messenger!" and the boy did; he was just a boy and Cedric wondered why Leora would have chosen someone this young for such an important mission. "Speak!"

"Are you General Cedric G –"

The soldier drew his sword pointing the tip right at the boy's throat.

"How do you dare doubt the general? Didn't I tell you that I'd bring him?"

"Easy man!" Cedric pushed the blade away from the messenger's eye dismissing the soldier from his sight. "Don't be scared. The men are tense these days. Come, tell me." His anger calmed a bit seeing the young boy so distraught. They walked towards the villa when Ortezza met them up the alley.

"What's going on?" the archer licked his fingers then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. But his chin remained greasy. Cedric shook his head in disbelief to his manners and pushed him aside to let the boy pass. "What? I had eggs for breakfast!" Ortezza was displeased with Cedric's lack of understanding, but reluctantly followed him inside.

"The boy is a messenger from Pentos." And as he spoke, Cedric opened the massive wooden doors to the throne hall. Ortezza hurried to catch up with them and got in right when the doors were closing behind the two.

"So what… what is going on?" the general dropped in a chair catching his breath, while Cedric filled in two cups of water and passed one to the boy. Ortezza swallowed in drily seeing how Cedric emptied his, sitting across the table, looking at the messenger and his throat ached with thirst. Cedric saw him slobbering for his cup and brought it up, waving it gently left to right before Ortezza's eyes and he followed it like a baby follows a toy.

"You wish! Go get it yourself big boy. You know you need the exercise!" and he gulped down the last drop of water.

The archer's face dropped with the disappointment but refused to move, still feeling the sweat coming down his spine. The shirt was moist, his eyelids heavy, his forehead hot. He sighed; water could wait.

"Speak boy."

"Yes, yes." He was obviously nervous, but he pulled himself back together fast. "My Lord, Sir Mormont and my Lady, Leora have sent me to give you this." And he took a scroll out from the folds of his brown cape; it bared the royal seal and Cedric looked at it for a while. That seal had stolen her away from him and he resented her absence. Air came out through his nostrils because he was too swamped in his own stubbornness to open his mouth and breath. He broke the seal and rolled out the paper, following the careful hand writing from top to bottom and the more he read the more livid he became. He wrapped back the scroll and put it aside on the table, looking emptily at it.

"Come. You must be tired from your journey. Have something to eat and rest. You'll go back to Pentos tonight." Cedric led the young man outside placing him in the care of one of the house maids. When he returned Ortezza was still wiping the sweat off his forehead. "You better have that cup of water. You're going to need it." He went at the table and poured another cup for him then sat back in his place at the table.

"Have some mercy man! Why not pour some water for me?" Ortezza got up heavily to get it himself.

"Because I'm having wine, not water."

Ortezza stopped in midway, turning around slightly. He scratched the dust off his red cheek then decided to have water nonetheless. He brought his cup and placed it on the table across from Cedric.

"So, now you tell me what's going on?"

Cedric took another sip looking at the scroll.

"Drogo and Alchantar are heading this way. They will go to Pentos first, and then, they will come here."

Ortezza swallowed in and felt the throat was still very dry and so he had more water.

"So what's the plan?" he took another sip. "If there is a plan."

"There is always a plan." Cedric grinned, and all of a sudden the thrill of getting ready for war rushed through his veins bringing back the good old black humor in him.

Ortezza sneered twice, showing no fear. Cedric chuckled with his bravery, but the times would come when these moments would be history.

"Don't make me wait young man!"

Cedric chuckled faced with his friend's mockery but he had the weapon to wipe that grin off his face.

"As thought, Alchantar went to Khal confessing about Leora's arrival to the Westeros court. He must've convinced the Dothraki to join him."

"What a fool, that Khal!"

"I am sure there is more that we do not know of."

"The best war is when you go to battle blindfolded!" Ortezza finished his water, setting the cup down rather angrily. "Now what?"

"Divide and conquer, my friend." And the archer waited patiently. "Jorah will spread the word that the nobility in Pentos rejected Leora as the heir to the throne and that she is returning home, in the hope that Alchantar will follow her back here."

"And leave Khal alone to go to Pentos."

"Alchantar is coward enough to always gorge on the smaller pieces of the pie!" Cedric played with the cup watching the wine twirl.

"So what do we do?"

"We do something we've done before. Deceive and stall."

"Sounds brave." The two men chuckled; nothing felt better than laughing in the face of danger.

"Nersin will take Leora's place. Leora will take Daenery's place."

"Is the princess indeed that gravely ill?"

Cedric sustained Ortezza's look for a moment then bowed his eyes remembering Jorah's written words.

"She's dead." Ortezza went for Cedric's wine cup, emptying it in a split.

"Sad." The archer looked inside the empty cup and all of a sudden he didn't feel the thirst anymore.

"We have work to do." The words came out slowly as if the silence that had fallen between them was too heavy to be penetrated.

"Yes." Ortezza sounded like a delayed echo of Cedric's words. "Do you think Nersin can do it?"

Cedric sighed and hid his face away in the cup of his palms. He rubbed hard against the forehead.

"Yes."

"You don't sound convinced."

The general shook his head; he wasn't. He was confused again.

"She can; she will." Ortezza stood up a bit from the chair patting him hard on the shoulder. "No, she will. She will."

The throne hall in Uyack felt empty, like a hole sucking their energy and spirit. The door opened and the wind rushed around her feet, playing with the folds of her red dress.

"I saw to the boy who came in earlier. Will he stay for long?"

The men turned their heads to look at Nersin; the sun in her back, made the cupper hair look redder and her eyes darkened with the shadow inside. Those plump lips remained still, waiting for them to answer.

"No." Cedric's voice resounded loud and clear; too loud perhaps. Ortezza got up abruptly taking one last look at the empty cup and now he wished it had been full. He grimaced but hurried outside the hall. Cedric's eyes followed him to the door but there they met hers again. Nersin took a step back, ready to close the door and leave as well. "Nersin! Stay."

** W**

"My Lord, a soldier outside wishes to speak with you. He says it's important." The sentinel bowed waiting for his king to command. But Alchantar was undisturbed in his happiness and early glory; he had the Dothraki at his side and soon it would all be over and these halls would resonate with the sound of banquets, cups clinking and women moaning from the dark corners, behind the heavy drapes. He grinned; the sentinel waited. "My Lord?..." But the Wolof enjoyed the feeling inside his mind too much to let go. The sentinel dared to look at him from the top of his eyes.

"You bother me."

"My Lord!" The man fell back urgently, dismissing himself from the scene fearing the consequences of his master's wrath.

"Idiot! Come back!"Alchantar gestured visibly annoyed. "What does he want?"

"He wouldn't say My Lord. He said he needs to speak with you and you alone."

Alchantar puffed, flattering himself with the man's words.

""I must do everything myself these days!" He took one last look in the mirror then rushed passed by the sentinel leaving him staring at the floor.

For once, there was silence in the throne hall. The sentinels alone bothered the morning with their breathing; they were wearing their festive uniforms and Alchantar took his time to go around the room and inspect them. By the end of his little tour he seemed satisfied and his early grin found its way back on his well contoured lips. Khal Drogo had sent word that he'd come to visit today and Alchantar Wolof was ready to receive his ally. His eyes fell on the door and he remembered the small annoyance that had brought him there. He signaled the doorman to let the soldier in; this had better not taken long for he had more important matters to care for. The doors opened and he enjoyed their subtle sound; it looked like his orders had been followed to the letter and his villa had been repaired and adorned the way he expected it. Not every day did he receive the visit of such a tribe chieftain like Drogo. But his thoughts evaporated the moment his eyes met the yellowish intoxicated regard of the old man standing before him. He looked disheveled, with long silvery blonde hair; the king couldn't tell whether it was curly or just stuck together in sticky tangles; his thick eyebrows were very close in color to what used to be the white of his eyes. His irises had lost their shade of brown and matched his sandy hair and Alchantar felt like coming closer just to make sure he can read his lost gaze. His stubble matched his neglectful appearance; he wore the clothes of a soldier, but they were rags, his fingernails dirty, his cheeks too tanned for someone spending his life indoors. He was indeed a poor vision to the eyes, but nevertheless it took the Wolof by surprise. It took him a little while before deciding what to say; not even his usual cynicism helped; somehow he felt sorry for the man, and then again he felt disgusted to have him in his distinguished home. Alchantar tilted his head a bit as if seeing the old man from a different angle would have helped him change his mind about what to think of him. He still couldn't find the words, so he gestured instead. The man bowed and waited a little longer making sure he understood what the king wished for, so he does not make the imprudence and speak unquestioned. Alchantar finally spoke.

"Speak."

"My Lord…" his voice betrayed many years of heavy drinking and the Wolof's image of him began to contour even better. "I come from the market and –"

"You seem to have come more from the taverns in the market, rather than from the market itself."

The man looked away, ashamed and cornered. He could have explained but it would have taken too long and Alchantar Wolof was not known for his patience.

"I have heard rumors My Lord." And his sudden sinuous look stirred the king very close to making him angry.

"Do not waste my time."

"It's about the bastard princess."

Alchantar was thankful he had his back at the old man otherwise he would have not been happy with the soldier seeing his shocked face. _My plan!_ His secret plan. _How?..._ It happened so fast as if he had flown into the man's throat chocking him against the door.

"How do you know? _How do you know!_" his veins pulsated in his temples, his neck got swollen with the heart bit, turning him into a calf, panting loudly and pushing more and more until the man started pushing back. He struggled.

"Everyone… knows…" Alchantar dropped him to the floor. He smiled, angrily, trying to take in as much as air as his nostrils could fit. It was Karok, this was his town, his people, he should have known better. Nothing remained a secret in Karok, not for long. He gestured evasively, as if he asked for something but no one could guess what it was. He turned around looking at an empty room but spoke as if his servants were right there listening.

"Wine! Wine…" and his voice sounded weak coming from his ox neck. He stretched it, pushing his shoulders back, making room for his lungs to fill in with air. The sentinels glimpsed at each other not knowing what to do. Finally one of them opened the door silently signaling a servant from outside.

"Master wants wine. Now!" the man whispered but in all that silence Alchantar heard it; but he had other business to think of other than punishing a sentinel from leaving his post.

"What does everyone know?" his voice continued to sound chocked and he boiled with the thirst for wine. A woman stepped inside quickly bringing a tray. She bowed fast, reaching up for him to take the cup and as soon as he did she slipped away unheard, but not fast enough because the king slapped his palm on the back of her head, upset with the delay. Her hair pins broke loose and grey hair spilled on her shoulders and she almost lost the tray. She ran to the door, tears in her eyes, gravely disturbed and in fear. The sentinel closed the door behind her and her sobs got swallowed by the silence. He turned around on his heal sinking his nose in the cup and he enjoyed the coolness of the liquid on his overheated tongue and throat.

"They know my Lord, that she is the bastard child of the Mad King in Pentos. That she had gone to take the throne."

"Yes… What else?" he went on sipping slowly, not so much to enjoy the taste, but to give himself time to sieve in through the information he was receiving.

"Travelers coming from the East said they sent her home."

His jaw blocked and Adam's apple remained stuck somewhere lower in his throat, stopping the wine from flowing down and Alchantar almost choked on the mouth full. Again, his continuous pacing around the room helped with disguising his shock; and his pleasure. He opened his nostrils taking in air to relax his muscles and the body obeyed letting him swallow.

"Travelers?"

"Merchants my Lord. I was at Dilawar's tavern last night, to have a pint when they came in."

"And they just happened to sit next to you and talk about forgotten princess and Mad Kings and forsaken thrones, didn't they?" Alchantar finished the wine and threw the last drops at the man, disposing of the cup. The metal sound on the stony pavement made the old man's heart startle. "Do you take me for a fool? You!" his finger pointed at the sentinel standing at the door. "Gather some men, find me this Dilawar and find out what I need to know; no matter what it takes. And make it fast." The sentinel bowed and hurried to leave. "Wolof!" The young man turned around looking at his king. "Do not disappoint me, boy!" But there was too much fear in his eyes to ever let him betray his master; the door closed behind the sentinel and Alchantar felt the need for more wine. Drogo was coming, the Khal of the Dothraki, the Khalasar that had change the fate of his tribe and that was very close to change it yet again. He had to keep his head clear. His eyes went back to the old rag before him and they seared through the thick cataract in the former soldier's eyes. "Now tell me again, if you dare, that what you said was true."

The man didn't even blink, even though his body seemed to fall back a little.

"I am telling the truth my Lord. They said it was all people talked about in the markets of Pentos. That the council did not want her, and that the elders sitting with her couldn't do anything."

"Elders?..." but he said it more to himself, wondering what were those elders the man spoke of. "Jorah…hmm…" He kept silent for a long moment; he wished from the bottom of his heart that the rumors were true. It would make things so much simpler for him. Greed and scheming went deep in Pentos and that hand full of molls would be an easy and unsuspecting prey before his joint armies. And then Leora, what a rush! His eyes lit at once as he looked out the window into the distance. If he dreamt that morning, now he could see it before his eyes, he could taste that victory, sink his teeth in the pleasure of seeing her bow to him. Awkwardly enough, in the depth of his soul, he discovered he thought of her too much and it pooled below in his groin, with an unwanted yet stirring desire he did not wish to admit to. Her defeat would be so much more satisfying!... He swallowed in dryly, wishing again for that wine. "When did this happen?"

"They said they left Pentos last week, but that they stopped to sell their merchandise in the villages on the way. So, I say, about two weeks ago. Alchantar fretted, bringing his hands together, calculating his next move. Two weeks was a long time; he could not allow the nobles in Pentos to regroup. He did not worry about the Tekaras. With Drogo at his side, they were only a stone on the road. He will step on them and turn them into dust. He took another look at the man before him; somehow he could trust him and he needn't wait for a confirmation from his guards. He had to act quickly. The Gods favored him sending the Khalasar to see him on this very day. He reached for his pocket and took out a few gold coins; he played with them, hearing the sound of them rolling in his palm as he approached the old soldier.

"You know, nothing surprises me anymore." And in his mind he laughed, knowing how deeply it had hit inside him to find out something so important. "My father used to say, the world is a small place." He was a step away from the man and for the first time, this shadowy appearance of what used to be a proud man, shivered in the king's presence. Alchantar's eyes set on his, clanging on his mind like a hook in the gills of a fish; he let go of one coin and it fell down at their feet, rolling around their feet until it fell into the crack between the stones. "And just because it is so small…" he let fall a second coin watching it collapse to the floor, following the same random trajectory until it came to a stop further away from them. "… I am going to take it…" the last coin slid from between his fingers, ricocheting from the soldier's used and dirty boot on Alchantar's newly polished ones. "…all." His eyes released the old man, turning around to leave the room; behind him the soldier fell to his knees gathering the scattered coins.

He HHebjvhmv d

** W**

Nersin sat down silently; Cedric's story about war had brought a heavy toll on her. She was not ready to face her tribe. She regretted having been born among people who lived for profit and deceit. And she hated not being able to be one of them; it would have been easier. Her heart remembered her mother, such a kind mild woman, always sacrificing the last bite just to make sure she had something to eat. She remembered Dene still in her womb, she remembered the beatings and how her mother crawled under her father's boot to keep her unborn brother safe. _Scum! Scum! Scum! I hate you; I want to see you dead!_ In her mind she screamed from the top of her lungs, but her face did not betray her struggle; just her eyes. Cedric watched her just as silent; her eyes were swimming in the clear water of salty tears and he had not thought it would bring so much sorrow upon her.

"Nersin, I know what was said when Jorah was here. And I know we have no right to ask this of you. Uyack will remain your home, no matter what you decide." He stood up slowly and he felt numb with the burden he carried and that he had just put on her shoulders as well.

"I am not good at following orders." Her voice sounded blunt and unwelcome. Cedric came to a halt on his way to the door; he already knew of her insubordination; he breathed in. He was a rather patient person, but with Nersin, the word gained new meaning and he wasn't sure he could learn this new meaning; not fast enough anyway, for things were going to develop swiftly in the days to come.

"Train with me and that will change." He hated himself for being so stupid, but she just provoked him making him react from the gut. _Stupid gut!_

"You cannot tame people, not even for the right reason!" She remained seated while he kept his back at her and somehow the lack of eye contact did them good in this verbal confrontation.

"And what is the right reason Nersin?"

But she remained silent and Cedric turned around to look at her. She kept looking at her fingers so tightly tangled, her knuckles had gone white. The fire within the young Wolof blazed burning through her; she was angry with him for asking this of her just when she thought she was safe, just when she thought she had gotten away from violence. And he wanted her to help and obey. _And that kiss! That… arghh!..._ She got up abruptly taking a few hard steps to reach him; she stopped inches away from him and even though he was taller she stretched her neck up as much as she could and stared at him unruffled by his deep blue eyes. Cedric was bewildered by her sudden change of mood and stood his ground stirred to see more of this new challenging attitude. But it looked as if her newly found courage had died out as fast as it had appeared and she stood there staring at him and the weight of her breasts pulled her forward; that and her rising heartbeat made her loose balance bringing her even closer to him. Cedric waited, but startled with the closeness.

The smell of him, that warmth rinsing from his body dampening hers intoxicated her and she fought it off. She placed her hands on his chest as a first step to her rebellion and Cedric did not expect that. She pushed, she pushed again and inevitably he took a stand. Nersin growled low in her throat, undeterred by his barely chest; she hit it, she hit it again.

"I will not go to war! I don't want to die! I fought my damn way here to live!" She hit him again and he let her. His manly arrogance annoyed her even more; the flames in her eyes were scorching her eyelids. She stopped; Cedric's eyes fell on her and those juicy lips demanded his attention again; a second later his head turned so abruptly, it hurt his neck with how hard it span. Her palm stung from the hit and so did his cheek. He blinked a few moments to gain his vision back then slowly turned around to look at her again. She was ready for her first lesson.

She didn't even see him coming. A moment later she had both arms twisted at the back and she moaned with the pain surging in her shoulder blades.

"If you give pain you must know how to wield it when it strikes you back!" Cedric whispered in her ear, using his arm like a crowbar to keep hers together in an iron lock and Nersin struggled to get out, but he seemed immune to her efforts. She remembered her skills; the other skills she had learnt unwillingly at her father's command.

Cedric was taken aback with her sudden fall; he caught her in an instant; her head fell back on his shoulder, her lips tickled the lobe of his ear. Instinctively, his arms locked around her waist and he didn't know what to make of this turn of events. Her heart thundered, but for once she did not think of this as dirty and repulsing; this was new.

Cedric blocked, feeling the tip of her tongue on his ear, her breathing seared the sensitive skin behind it and his jaw trembled a bit with the sensation. She squirmed in his embrace sinking her nose deeper in that sweet hollow behind his ear, insulting his senses more with that slippery hot tongue of hers and Cedric shut down little by little.

"Ah!... You!" Her heal embedded in his toes did not please him as much as her tongue did. He let go, lifting his foot up to sooth the pain of her blow. She turned around and jumped on him taking advantage of his momentarily imbalance and they both went down rolling on the floor. But her strategy was short lived. Cedric pinned her to the ground and as soon as she was completely under his control he took a moment to feel the pulse in his damaged toe nails. He grinned looking down at her, imprisoned underneath him. Her dress was strangling those beautiful breasts and he wished he released them from their prison, if she hadn't been spitting her venom at him even when obviously not in an advantageous position.

"I know you want to help. Can you accept that? Can you say it! Say it!" Cedric waited, but he knew he didn't have much time to wait; not like this, not while on top of her. It took reason away from him. "Say it woman!"

"Are you always such a bastard with your men?" she barked the words out, undefeated.

Cedric wanted to spit in her face that she was not a man and that shown obviously in his pants with each passing minute.

"Say it. Say something that will show me that good girl inside of you. Say it."

Nersin breathed heavily. Sweat was coming down the roots of her hair, to the back of her neck and she knew she couldn't hang in for too long anymore.

"I am a good girl. I don't need to prove myself."

"Then let the good girl help, for we're fighting for the same thing, you and I. But at least I know what we're doing."

"We're both going to our death."

"But we are going together." And the earlier silence settled between them again. "Unless you want to wait for it alone." His grip on her loosened and he took some of his weight of her; she enjoyed the freedom and took a deep breath of her, allowing her gaze to finally meet his.

"I want to help. I don't want to die. But I will."

"Not if you learn." Cedric helped her up and he lingered with his arms around her just a moment longer, to feel her, safe, back on her feet.

"It takes years of training for soldiers to be ready and you want me to face war after I play tag for just a few weeks?" now she avoided him again.

"No. I want you to listen to what I have to say and pay attention. Out there it will be you and me and all of our men. They depend on us, and we depend on them." Nersin came back to his eyes feeding on his encouraging tone. "Out there it's going to be you and me. And I will depend on you and you will depend on me." He paused purposefully and Nersin backed off, not wanting to hear the rest. "Can I depend on you?"

She turned her back on him, feeling her body so heavy she could collapse; and if she had, she wished she remained there, dead. _You selfish harlot!_ A tear rolled down her eyes so fast she didn't even knew it was there, waiting to fall. She felt him right behind her and again, that mix feeling of not knowing whom to trust in this man, invaded her. How can a good man behave so mean? She faced him decided to take whatever he had to offer.

_Be gentle with me… _"If you ever –" her voice sounded demanding.

"Don't start by threatening me. It's not a good start."

She pouted, her eyes going small as she pierced into his. This game needed two players.

"Yes General." His eyebrow came up in wonder and he barely kept a smile at bay.

"That's much better." He took a step back and went towards the door, a bit too fast for someone unaffected by the situation. He slowed down deliberately; _why are you running you fool! You won!_ "You'll start training tomorrow morning with Dene." He went on to open the doors, and then turned around to close them keeping an eye on her. And now he smiled; she had pinned her small hands in her waist, showing off and she looked as adorable and treacherous as a rose. Too many thorns paved the way to her heart. "And better do something about those." And he cleared his throat when gesturing towards her breasts. "I want my man focusing on the job." The door closed, but not fast enough to stop the cup flying right above his head. He chuckled, ducking, with his forehead against the door handle. Inside, Nersin pulled on her dress, tearing it open. She will make him stare if that's what it took to make him and his ego fall!

** W**

Alchantar inspected the throne hall, his eyes eager to find any small imperfection before the inevitable. The doors opened and Drogo's men flooded the room, in an orderly manner, yet their savage look made his sentinels straighten their backs. It did not happen too often for them to receive such a visit. The skins around the men's waist, their tanned skin and long hair, those silent but piercing eyes enslaved the servant girls in the hall and Alchantar could not grasp onto the reason behind their lust. What could be so attractive about men fighting half naked, ready to kill you even when you didn't speak… maybe their wealth. His eyes strayed away from the door for a moment. Riches always came at a costly price, but he wasn't willing to pay that much. Khal Drogo entered the room and the Wolof felt the need to straighten his back himself. The man was imposing, shadowing those around him, with his proud walk and fixed look; he remembered too well those hawk eyes and now they were preying on him again. Alchantar stood up greeting his guest with a bow.

"Welcome to the house of Wolof, my Khalasar." Drogo bowed his eyes, thanking him with just one look, and even though it ate him inside, Alchantar knew that was all he could get out of the Dothraki chieftain.

He invited him to seat across the small table he had laid in the middle of the hall; just for the two of them. His sentinels mingled slightly among the Dothraki and tension rose with them standing shoulder to shoulder, steps away from their leaders. All of a sudden the throne room had become a silent chess board; one half empty, just two kings of matching strength. Another half full, with pawns waiting to be placed on the board, to kill each other or to join forces.

Drogo pushed away the skins covering his waist, sitting down slowly, and his movement reminded Alchantar of the lions in the prairies, taking one last look at their food before devouring it; attentive, silent and eager. Drogo's green watery gaze gave him the chills, putting out the fire inside him. But too much was at stake to feel intimidated now; yet he found himself short of words.

"My men are ready." Drogo helped him reassuring him their deal was in place and he had kept his word. But Alchantar still hesitated and the chieftain took that as a sign of mistrust. He leaned forward, placing his fist on the table and the Wolof considered how little protection all the food before them offered him in case Drogo decided to make a move. He measured the size of an apple to the fist of the Khal and he cleared his voice before looking at him again. "Do you doubt me, Wolof?"

Alchantar was taken aback; his silence had been misunderstood and he hurried to undo the wrong.

"No, no! I –"

"My armies are standing at your borders as we speak. Doubt me again and they will cross over, but not to help you." His voice was linear, calm and deep and it echoed among the Dothraki in the room; fists clenched harder on the handle of weapons and the sentinels glimpsed over their shoulders, standing ready.

"You misunderstand me, Khalasar! I – I just have news, that I wanted to share with you. I am much honored to have you here." Alchantar retreated in his seat unhappy with his incoherence and blurb. Drogo took a careful look at him sieving through all the lies Alchantar was made of. He decided he was acting too suspicious to be lying. The Wolof king lied naturally; whenever he was not at ease, he was probably saying the truth.

"I do not wish to hear your news. Your news never humors me."

"Leora Stekara has gone back to Uyack. The council in Pentos rejected her plea for the throne." Unexpectedly, Drogo did not appear amazed. "I advise that we follow her to the village, have the Tekaras submit to our cause and then move on to Pentos. We could use more men."

"We don't need more men. And one cannot be submitted to a cause he doesn't believe in. I said it before but you're not listening! The Tekaras are of your concern."

""If she tries again to take the Westeros throne she will also damage you and this cause! And I assure you she will try again! She has the help of two senior lords, Jorah Mormont and Illyrio Mopatis. They have great influence in Pentos."

"Well, it seems their influence is not great enough. But I'll please you; maybe like this I'll get rid of your nagging. I need to focus on Pentos not on your little schemes of power and pride." Drogo looked across the table to find something that would interest him. He took an apple and slowly sliced it with his danger leaving Alchantar to wait for his resolution. "I will give you a few men. Go after her and bring her to me alive. Do what you will with the village, but I warn you: destroy it and maybe the glory will be yours. But remember, dead Tekaras are of no use, so better not kill them all."

But Alchantar had never been inclined to listen to speeches about honor and respecting the enemy; there was no profit coming out of that so he didn't spend too much time considering the Khal's words.

"Alive?"

"Don't tell me you want her dead, because I know you don't. We may be miles apart but news travels fast. I know she fought you in Uyack and I know she won." Drogo smiled subtly placing a slice of apple in between his lips. "I doubt that didn't stir the fire in you. Hell, it stirred my waters to know a woman took a sword and fought like a man." He chewed slowly with that ironic smile on his wet lips and Alchantar wished to smack the grin off his face, but Drogo was one man he could never touch.

"I thought the Dothraki tradition denied women that right, so why would you appreciate such disobedience from a woman?"

Drogo appreciated the Wolofs' cunning spirit of turning the discussion away from himself; so he indulged him with an answer.

"Two hundred years long tradition tends to bore me after a while. Maybe I could use a little…" he looked away, as if he was trying to find the right word. "… a little novelty."

"She is no novelty." Alchantar grabbed a peach, much softer and maneuverable and sank his teeth in it. He quickly sucked on the juice as it spilt from the corner of his mouth. "She is young and impulsive. It was pure luck that she won that one small battle."

"You just bring her to me. You can keep the rest, I don't care." Alchantar weight the proposal. He'd have plenty of time to have his way with Leora before bringing her to Khal. He didn't need her for more than that. He nodded in agreement, but Khal smiled. "As soon as you have her, my men will escort her back to Pentos where I will be."

Alchantar's eyes fired up with his plan uncovered; but in the back of his mind it pleased him to be proven guilty by a worthy opponent.

"So be it. I will leave to Uyack and I bring her back to you."

Drogo finished his apple and slowly wiped his mouth clean using his fingers, licking them slowly and Alchantar started grasping on that earlier feeling of lust he could not understand. This man had something in him that made you stare and it baffled him that he was staring too. He cleared his throat again and looked away, as if he was evaluating the situation. His eyes fell on the soldiers aligned further away and he flourished with pride looking at his army.

"I will leave for Pentos tomorrow at dawn. I will be there in a week."

"I will reach Uyack faster." And his statement sounded more like a question.

"Don't underestimate the Tekaras. If she's back, then they are surely expecting you. It will give me time to meet with the Westeros Princess."

"Meet with her?" Alchantar was obviously surprised. He did not put so much effort into getting the chieftain's help to have him chatter with Daenerys. And to what avail, if the girl was mad as a blind dear? "You would be wasting precious time –"

"- I'll meet with her and speak with her before we do anything." Alchantar's mouth opened. "The Khalasar has spoken." _Damn you and your rules!_ The Wolof cursed the day Drogo's ancestors had given so much power to just one man because the chieftain leader was surely using all of it on him right now. _No worries, no worries, she's mad as a mad woman can be…_

"I still believe it's a waste of time, but if you must, then so be it."

"Don't despair Wolof. It will buy you more time to bring me my prize." Drogo smiled and looked at the cup of wine he'd been ignoring since he had come. He did not trust Alchantar with feeding him. He stood up, putting the dagger back in the sheath. As he walked towards the door, his men formed a row clearing the way for him.

"Khalasar!" Drogo stopped but didn't turn around. "What do you hope to achieve by seeing Daenerys?"

"I don't hope. I wish -" he looked back over his shoulder catching Alchantar's eyes. "- to make peace."

"Peace comes after war." And for once the Wolof king was happy to have his barking voice back, the one that gave him his name.

"Have you ever seen fire die?" Alchantar took that as an offense but waited for Drogo to continue, signaling him of his resent by bringing his chin up. "That is war; charcoal smoldering with ashes settling on top. That is peace. What we do now is rummage through the charcoal, disturbing the ashes. Bring war upon peace. If blood shed can be avoided it shall."

The Wolof remained silent; not that he approved, but he did not want to be stirred by the Khal's words. It was too early for him to burn with rage. That time would come and he needed to save his energy and bring his plans to that glorious end he'd been dreaming of all morning. All the time. Drogo left the room together with his men; behind him an army of servants rushed to accommodate him.

From the dungeons below Kanza heard the commotion and through his little window he saw the skins hanging from their waists; he heard them speak. The Dothraki had come; things were moving. He collapsed against the wall pressing on his wound. A few more days and he would heal enough to make his way out of here. Soon, Karok would buzz with precious gossip; gold to his ears and he could not miss on it for the world.

** W**

"I say, stop your blubbering and see what is before you!" Jorah's voice died in a violent coughing. He had yelled for what seemed hours since the gathering of the Council had started. "The tribes are coming this way and we must prepare! But instead! What do we do? We argue about the obvious!" He leaned against a pylon in the room, weakened by his ever growing illness.

"If we are to face war, is just because of you! You and your rumors got us here! We were never told, no one asked for our council before you spread your treachery in our markets and into the Wolof's back yard! Weeks ago!" the beard noble man took a proud position from the corner where he was trying to hide his round belly and stuffed cheeks.

"If you try to bring your hands together before you, can you reach Sir Sitche? Or has your belly grown too big for you to circle? Maybe your son can help, but I am afraid he would not walk too far too fast with his slender waist!" Illyrio enjoyed an unleashed Mormont, so much that he took a seat in the first row. Rarely did Jorah ever let his tongue lose but tonight was a good time to let him out of his leash and by the Gods, did he lavish on his freedom of speech! Sir Sitche didn't even have the chance to speak. "Don't put this on me old man!" The Magister chuckled in his beard, unable to control himself. Jorah wasn't young himself but his spirit was eternal and it entitled him to call his peers old. "Don't think I don't know what you've been doing behind closed doors! All of you!" His scream reverberated through the walls and the candles flickered. For a moment there was unsettlement in the room with the fear of darkness and they all waited for the light to gain strength before turning to Jorah again. "You guided your prince onto your deceitful ways and it got him killed!"

"Viserys pursued his own decisions, we were just humble advisors."

"Do not mock at me or take me for a fool!" Jorah yelled back at the voice in the back and Illyrio worried that Sir Mormont's energy would soon wear out if he continued his one man battle. He came down from his seat and patted Mormont on the shoulder, relieving him from his warrior stand so he can take over.

"I will not spit my anger at you like Jorah Mormont here. No, that would be the true waste of time. I will come at you and crack your skulls with this very staff if I hear one of you word such nonsense again! We are old owls, all of us; we have all prayed on the small and weak one time in life. But it seems that some have spread their wings too hard and now are tumbling down with the gusts of wind. And because of their greed now we all have to suffer the consequences of their mischief."

The nobility in the room silenced. The council members looked away; most of them. Some were too old and scared to be part of any treacherous plans. But Jorah still blamed them for not intervening to stop the madness, no matter his struggle nor Illyrio's repeated pleas.

"You have taken over possession of the merchandise sent from the North, you increased the taxes and put a toll on the tribes. Now that toll is being sent back to us." Jorah spoke in between breaths and Mopatis' disciple helped him sit down.

"We have only done what we thought necessary to keep the kingdom safe when we were left astray with no rule. The royal coffer must always stay full to pay for the people's defense!" One of the neutrals spoke stirring Jorah's indignation but his coughing prevented him from fighting back.

"The coffer is empty but your bellies are not! Proof of where all the coins have gone! And you killed even the ruler left behind through your ignorance and selfishness." Illyrio replied on his behalf.

"Have you not done the same?"

"We could not mend what had been broken. But we did not cause the breaking."

"You ask us to accept a stranger in our midst, at a time like this."

"Better a stranger with a clean mind and soul than any of us, tainted by hatred and vengeance." Illyrio went on, taking turns to look at each council member.

"If this girl fits in the wrong hands, she will be like fresh dough to be molded in the shape of the maker." The man spoke slow and calculated. From behind him Lorday hid under his hood. Jorah stood up and took a few hesitant steps towards him.

"Lorday, stop putting your words in another man's mouth. Look at me, young master." And his irony bit deep into Lorday's pride. He hated being played before the council. "That day will come when I will see you strangled in the web of your own lies and I won't let anyone free you." He saw Esther next to the young noble; he looked lost and livid. _Such a pity_… Jorah turned towards Illyrio asking for silent help.

"Even if we accept her as our princess, your plan is insane. What are the chances for the Wolof to follow the girl in Uyack instead of coming here to gain back his position as leading merchant? His profit, his gains, his taxes depend upon the Dothraki victory. No woman disserves this kind of loss, and surely Alchantar knows to appreciate that."

"A messenger has been sent a few days ago to Karok to bring news of Alchantar's decision. He should arrive by the end of today." Illyrio helped Jorah take a seat next to him.

"And I suspect you think the Wolof made his decision public for all Karok to know? Just serve it for free to your messenger?"

"Clearly you have not traveled too much outside these walls, Sir Sitche. If Alchantar but whispers to the wind all Karok will know by morning. He wanted it that way. He uses speculation as a weapon at the risk of that weapon hurting him at times. And now is that time."

"Say you are right and that Wolof goes after the girl. How will we face the Dothraki?"

"We will have our men ready, with new armors and weapons, we will reinforce the gate and the city walls. We'll do the best we can." Illyrio spoke calmly as if the solution was so clear he was amazed they didn't see it. "On all of our expense, of course."

Silence in the room. The doors opened abruptly and a man barged in, swollen red face and gargoyle eyes. He dropped to his knees, bringing his forehead to the ground and he took a moment to enjoy the cold blessing of the marble floor on his inflamed skin. Jorah stood up slowly, and Illyrio followed him closely behind. He recognized his messenger. _God I plead with you, send me good tidings!_ Jorah looked at the boy coming around and waited, unsure whether he was ready to hear him speak. If what he said was against his plans, everything would be ruined. Everything.

"My Lord…." The messenger wiped the sweat off his forehead, but the hoarse material only mingled and smudged the dust on his face, shadowing his dark blue eyes.

"Speak boy, speak fast!" Illyrio rushed him with his staff.

"Alchantar Wolof has left for Uyack." Jorah's eyes closed and a wave of utter fear struck inside him and he felt his knees weaken suddenly. He had wished for this, but now it was happening and he realized the war of minds was over; now it all came down to the strength of arms, and his arm did not have much strength left.

"When did this happen?"

"The morning after I left Karok, my Lord. Four days ago."

"What did you do? Did you kill the horse to get here? It takes a week to come home." Illyrio admonished him kindly.

"I had to, my Lord. The Dothraki are coming. Two or three days behind me."

A wave of rumors and panic in the room.

"Three days?..." Jorah's voice paled to a bare whisper. _By the Gods…_

"Not the week you expected, Sir Mormont."

"Shut your trap, Sitche!" Illyrio put the noble in his place without even granting him a look. He turned towards Jorah behind him. The man was barely standing; his eyes alone betrayed the life within him. "We must decide now. Face this war alone, or have someone to blame for the failure. I know it's what you always wanted; to wash your dirty hands. Well I give you this chance now. She fails, she is sent home and the council decides who will have the throne. She does well, she stays."

"What does her doing well mean?"

"That I'd still have to suffer your stench after all this is over." Illyrio helped Jorah and his disciple joined him. The door opened behind the messenger still kneeled. "Get up boy, you did well." The messenger looked at the Magister a little scarred. But soon he ran out of the room; he knew before he had even left to Karok that if he ever told a soul what he had learnt he would not see the day light again. So Mopatis was not concerned with the boy.

"If it's about surviving, then we can do it without her. Even a peasant could." Sitche shouted from the back.

"A peasant would because his hand knows the weight of a tool, not much different than the weight of a weapon. Your hands would bleed just from holding the sword!" Jorah coughed hard, almost falling to the ground; the impotence to speak and slap back the ignorant who dared fight his way to life enraged him. But this time it didn't stop and the pain purged through his lungs until he leaned against the Magister's disciple unable to stand anymore. He used his hand to cover his mouth; the young man held him strongly, not knowing how to ease his pain. Illyrio found himself trapped between helping his old friend and finishing what they had come for.

One of the oldest council members stood up slowly, looking at Jorah Mormont. He had known the councilor for a long time, but never in this estate. They were loosing lives before they even went to war and maybe it was time they did the right thing.

"I admit and acknowledge Leora Stekara, daughter of Aerys II as heir to the Westeros throne. May the Gods give her speed and strength before the enemy; and may we be spared through her divine hand." Never a voice had sounded so clear since Viserys Targaryen was killed. The hall turned its head silently towards the old man; only Jorah's coughing kept breaking through, resounding in their empty souls. Another shadow rose above the steps of the small auditorium. And then another; and another. More than half of the councilors were now approving Leora Stekara. Sitche backed off in anger. In the back, Lorday's mind was already running wild trying to find his next move. _Kanza…_

He looked down and saw the bloody sputa in his palm. His fist clenched hiding away the signs of his disease. His eyes stared at the men standing. Voices were blurring and they were nothing but shadows; but it soothed his heart.

_Mighty Powers give me the power, the air, the strength to stand and see her through. Then take me…_

** W**

"My Lady…"

Leora turned her head around slowly. The wind scooped a few rebellious strands and threw them around on her naked shoulders. Her eyes were of gold in the dieing sun.

"Magister…"

He looked beyond her at the marble stone baring her sister's name. She had been standing there for hours, reaching to her sibling in the undisturbed silence of death; no one to bother her, other than her thoughts.

"I hate that we had to burry her like this. No honors, no prayers, no time to mourn. And her people don't even know she's gone." She sighed and caressed the cold stone. "When this is over I want a tomb built for her, worthy of a royalty; her face carved in stone, her name crowned with flowers."

"I am sorry for your pain. I saw Daenerys being brought into the world and I surely did not want to see her buried. When young people die, it makes me feel like I don't disserve my life." Illyrio paused, remembering Daenerys' sweet smile and candid laughter as a child. She was happy. "I promise you she will have funerals, they way she was meant to have, as soon as this is over. It is unfortunate, but her death must be kept a secret until danger passes."

"Yes. Jorah said she's helping me even in death. So unfair…" She frowned looking away to take a deep breath as if watching the tomb took the air from her. "So… am I still an unwanted stranger in Pentos?"

"You sound hopeless my Lady. You must have little faith in our skills."

She smiled coming up to take a closer look into Illyrio's eyes.

"It's not in you that I have lost my faith. It is this place. These people."

"Pentos is not all about the court. There is the people, the Targaryens who make a hard living to feed these pigs another day. And they are the ones who truly need your guidance."

"Without the pigs' approval I cannot help them." She smiled mildly putting her arm around Illyrio's and he walked her back limping slowly and she waited patiently for his staff to move, each step at a time.

"You know, I've never walked with a princess at my arm."

Leora stopped confused, her eyes frowned and it was not from the light warming her delicate features. Illyrio took a careful look at their queen. Tender tanned skin, chocolate eyes, with shades of gold, so deep and shadowy that one could easily get lost in them. A little pale, but her lips made up for the loss of color in her cheeks. Rosy and delicate. Her nose showed mild signs from childhood fighting, but so did all of her fingers, elbows and knees. Cuts, burns, bruises, she had them all. She had grown up as a boy, but had the tenacity of a woman.

"The pigs, are granting you the throne of Westeros."

"Before or after I die?"

Illyrio chuckled cheering her spirit; he always enjoyed those who joked on the brink of disaster. It made it easier to escape the choking hand of fear.

"It is happening Magister. The elements are coming together; wind "- and she pointed at herself "- fire, water, earth; they brought us here. Yet the water is fighting together with the fire, through the cracks the earth left behind in its deceitful movement and now the wind stands alone to face them." She looked at Illyrio trying to find comfort. "How can the wind part the waters, kill the fire and seal back the earth?"

The Magister looked at her, loving how she embraced her Tekara nature and their legacy, fully knowing that by blood, she was not one of them. The power of the wind had not been bestowed on her, yet she fought in its name.

"The wind can make the sea spill from its bed, the fire burn so hard consuming everything until there is nothing left and it will die; the wind will blow time and again on the surface of the earth and beneath its crust, drying it, and stone by stone, it will fall apart under its persuasion. The wind is invisible and supple, it can clear a man's eyes in battle or it can blind him throwing sand in his face. Don't underestimate it just because you can't touch it." Leora nodded softly, and her eyes shone with renewed hope. "Come, I have news. We should talk."

"Where is dear Sir Jorah?"

The Magister kept quiet for a moment.

"He is in his chamber." Leora's heart startled with the tell-tale signs in Illyrio's words that something had happened to Jorah. "His coughing is getting the best of him."

"I must see him at once! Have you called for the healer?" Illyrio nodded, but before his head came up she was already sprinting towards the villa.

_Don't leave me now Jorah Mormont, don't leave me! I need you!_

**Author's note**

**Sandradee27** – hehe thanks girl and thanks for letting e know I'm not messing it all up with how I'm tangling things. I swear it feels like mixing in a pot but I'm sure the series have several screenwriters that do the plot, while all I have is my little one brain

**Straight Edge Queen **– yeah Leora is definitely starting to look at Jorah as to a father figure a little bit, even though they don't really know each other for that long. And yes, more it's coming! Oh yes, thanks for adding it to your favorite story list! Love you!

**First Lady Lestat** – heheh no worries, it will all be clearer soon. I hope haha, no seriously it will. Something will happen that will untangle the situation. I'm getting there.

**Monkey D. Shizuma** – so excited that you like it! Your excitement - all of you - makes me want to write more and believe me it's hard with a full job and other such responsibilities on my mind. But it's always a pleasure to find a review at the end of the day. MUAH and thanks so much for joining the crew (and all the adding to everything alert, author, story etc)

**Blue Eye Phantom**** – **hehe thrilled with the positive criticism! I will actually use your note somewhere in the story to explain my choice of name when it comes to Drogo. But to make a short story long, in my vision, Drogo is his tribe, he represents it everywhere he goes and the other tribes had started calling him Khal Drogo (King Drogo) and that imprinted on his birth name turning it into Khal Drogo and Khalasar is used like the long version of Khal. How messy is that? It just rang powerful and different with me, I guess. I know it is not like in the series, but then again, how else could I bring some of me into this story? I just need to find the right moment to clear this up MUAH and thanks again!

Also **Paul'sImprint1293, kierra666, Blue Eye Phantom** thanks so much guys for adding this to your Story Alert subscription.

Also wanted to let you know that I'll be in London for a week and the next chapter is actually going to be rather long and heavy to write so it may take a little while before I update. That's why I hurried with writing this one so you have something to nibble on meanwhile I promise I will do my best to come back with the next chapter in about 2 to 3 weeks tops. Sorry


	13. Chap 12Coming together yet falling apar

**Coming together**

**yet falling apart**

It was quiet; too quiet. Even the wind had ceased blowing and the flags fell against the wooden poles supporting them. They swirled around silently, like snakes hiding away their royal symbol. Alchantar looked up watching the red material shy away and he groaned unhappily. His pride had to show, from the shine of his men's armor to the upstanding of his flags, but it looked as if today none of his glory would be revealed and he resented the loneliness of the battlefield. It made him feel small; he pierced into the distance observing the walls of Uyack. Their flags were still as well. The Wolof looked at the sky; the Gods weren't favoring any of them today. His eyes narrowed trying to see the slight movement behind the enemy lines but the air seemed to go against him blurring his vision with waves of heat so unfamiliar to these lands. He groaned again; _maybe…just maybe the Gods favor you today…_ He chased the poisonous thoughts away and went back at preying on the Tekaras.

Nersin folded the dress tightly in her fists waiting for Cedric to bring her armor.

"All right. Turn around." He was demanding and she was too confused to fight anything he said. She turned her back to him and heard the sound of the chains falling to her feet behind her. She took in a deep breath. A moment later his fingers touched her skin and she startled. Cedric unknotted the laces holding her dress together, sneaking his fingers underneath to pull it open but when her skin was revealed his courage flatted. The mild color of that soft skin attracted his eyes sweetening the morning for him. Slowly he walked the back of his hands up her shoulder blades pushing the edges of the material off her shoulders and Nersin hurried to catch the material, keeping it from revealing her breasts. Cedric gave her time to breathe. She listened carefully not knowing what he was doing behind her; but she did not dare to look back. Cedric rolled out the white wrapping stretching the material. He came behind her again, so close she felt his breath on the back of her neck. His arms circled her and she saw the wide bandage he had in his hand and didn't know what to make of it. But as her eyes were distracted, Cedric slipped his other hand underneath her arms and pulled the dress down to her waist and she screamed in surprise jumping back. He bolted her against his chest trying to bring the material around her breasts but she had sealed her arms hiding them in what she believed to be an impenetrable lock. "Nersin, stop it."

"_You_ stop touching me!"

"I'm not touching you, woman! Put this on! Now!" But she pushed him harder elbowing her way out of his arms.

"I'll do it myself!" Cedric threw the wrapping on her shoulder cursing in his chin. Nersin spent a moment fearing to let go of her breasts and take the cloth, but eventually thought that upsetting him further would not be to her advantage. She tried her best to fit the material around her voluptuous bust but it kept slipping under before she could make a new turn. She groaned unsatisfied with her failing efforts. Cedric watched her frowning, doing his best to keep his frustration at bay; and his amusement as well. Alchantar Wolof was at his gates, with his armies ready to attack and instead of being up on the walls along with his men, there he was, watching this tiny woman wasting her energy to fight him. He sighed; enough was enough. He grabbed the material almost causing her to spin around and she screamed again, this time with a vengeance for his unexpected gesture and dominance.

"Stand still Nersin, or I swear…" She backed off, still holding her arms to her chest and Cedric grabbed her pulling her to him. "Nersin!" She jolted but didn't have enough strength to fight him. "Damn it, Nersin, we don't have time to play!" His hands forced hers to open and her breasts bounced gently before his eyes and it cost him all his might and power of concentration to shift his eyes from her blooming nipples, darkening in the morning chill. He turned her around and without her seeing him, bowed his head, taking a moment to savor the lurking fresh memory of her tender skin and he felt the need for a new breath of air. He let go of her arms bringing the material forth. Nersin was reluctant still; he placed the material on her chest without looking and waited for a moment for her to help him and not make things worse for them. She slowly fitted the material around the curves of her body, and then he rolled the cloth a few more times around her chest until her breasts were safely secured under the soft wrapping. She looked down feeling it a little hard to breathe. "Hands up!" She brought them up without giving it a second thought now that she felt the worse was gone. Cedric slipped the tunic down on her slender body, forcing it on top of the folds of her hanging dress, then pulled the dress down to her ankles making Nersin step out of it. She shied away again being left almost butt naked in that shirt skirt but Cedric warned her silently to not start yet another of her scenes. The cries of a few men outside obliged them to share an eager look, for a moment. Cedric helped her with the rest of the armor, tightening the fenders on her legs and hands. Then he placed the armor on her shoulders, letting it fall gently along her body and she bent under the heaviness. He helped her up straightening her shoulders until their eyes met again. The general took a moment to support her; his hands gripping on her small shoulders, his eyes embedded in hers and it made the ring armor feel less heavy. He fitted the leather belt on her waist, added the dagger and the sword and Nersin's knees weakened further under the pressure. She was ready; almost. Cedric looked at the helmet in his hand then again in her green eyes. Her lips shivered and he got caught in the sweet memory of that fullness molding on his mouth and his fingers gripped harder on the metal edges of the helmet. He breathed in wishing it hadn't sounded so loud. She bowed and he placed the helmet on her head, tucking away all the cupper strands straying from underneath. She lifted her head and from the shadows of the metal she stared at him and her eyes flickered with fear. Cedric's lips fretted wanting to speak but she was staring and it sealed his mouth. All his thoughts, everything he wanted to tell her, vanished. The general had to take over otherwise Cedric would be lost.

"Stay at my side at all times. Do not venture alone. Do not speak if addressed, do not look them in the eye." His lungs filled with air again, so much it almost hurt him. Or maybe the air was too rough this morning. "We must keep Alchantar in the dark for as long as we can." Nersin nodded without releasing him from her eyes. "Understood?" She saw Cedric was gone and that the Tekara General she did not enjoy so much had replaced him. She grinded her teeth, but nodded again.

Cedric took his helmet and stepped outside. In the door way he turned around to check on her one more time. She looked tiny and helpless draped by so much leather and metal. He kept it together and did not allow his emotions to surface. From inside the armory Nersin admired silently his tall posture; he looked carved into the light coming from behind him, his hand on the handle of the sword, the crest of his helmet still in the silent morning. He appeared brave, but merciless. She turned her eyes from him and he left. Now the day light seemed too merciless on her and he wished him back to protect her.

**W W W ** **W ** **W ** **W W**

Leora let the air out slowly and loud, following the sound like when she was little and the healer would ask her to count her breathing to see whether her cold was severe or not. Something in her chest hurt and she bent a little, supporting her weight against the railing. There was no wind, nothing to sooth the pain of this scorching sun. The desert before her was only stained by his armies, a dark brownish spot, lurking in the distance, like old blood drying on the hot sand. They stood motionless and she wondered what went through his mind. _The Khalasar…_

"How is my princess today?" Jorah stepped on the terrace, leaning his weakened body against the door way. Leora turned around to face him and his eyes rejoiced the image of her dressed for battle. She was lean and rather tall for a young woman, her hair braided to the side, her eyes shining like pebbles underneath clear sparkling waters.

"How is my right hand?" she smiled looking a bit worried at Sir Mormont's pale face.

"Weaker than it used to be… but strong inside." Even the strength in his voice had faded away. He took a few hesitant steps and came into the light and it embraced him with the warmth he needed. Jorah closed his eyes letting himself be filled with the strength of the sun, like a flower growing under its protection. He sighed; he held strong for her, but some things he could not control. A quick prayer came to his mind but he dismissed immediately. Now it was not the time for prayer, he had to focus. "How are you Leora?"

"How are _you_?" but Jorah did not answer; his eyes did it for him and she responded with a smile. Mormont's regard shifted, looking at the Dothraki gathering in the distance.

"I know you are afraid, but –"

"I am not afraid." She followed his eyes looking upon Drogo's armies. "Not anymore. If there is no other way then I shall give to this day everything I'm worth…" her voice fainted a bit. "… and I hope I'm worth enough…"

"Let an old man speak." He took her arm bringing her to the edge of the terrace. The warmth was gone, the sun was now burning and his temples sweated with the effort and his inner fever. "What drives this arm into battle, the sap, the strength, what will help you cut through the enemy – is here." And his finger rested on her forehead. "Use your head to fight. Use your heart to defeat."

"I am not sure I follow, Sir Mormont."

"The Dothraki are savage warriors. Yet appearances deceive." He put some more weight on his elbows as he sat against the stone railing. "They do not fight blindly. They know in each given moment where their enemy is, where to strike and where to move next." He pointed at the desert before them. "They look scattered, mindless; their war cry is meant to kill your spirit before you even cross blades with them." He turned to her and she looked blinded already. "Leora!" Her eyes came back to him but she looked lost. "It's good that you don't fear them. They are just men." Leora paused, sieving his words through.

"How does one fight using their head if the heart aches madly in the chest?"

Unexpectedly, Jorah sent his staff right into her shoulder and she froze on spot, her eyes wide, her hand clutched on the railing but she stood her ground without flinching.

"We are all animals. Our body knows what to do."

"Some animals are predators, some animals are prey."

"All animals are predators, only on smaller prey."

"I am the smaller prey."

"This is where we are luckier than most animals. For us size does not matter, for we have this." And he again pointed with the staff at her head. "Use it when you fight and you can sneak your way through that sea of death."

"What about dignity and fighting to the death?"

Jorah grinned playfully.

"Running is just as dignifying at times if you understand that staying alive will help your cause. Otherwise how could you defend your purpose the following day if you're dead?" He chuckled and almost released another demon in his lungs. He took a moment to breathe. "Good soldiers know their bounds and right of way. And life should always have right of way for without it nothing else matters."

In a moment of silence they both waited for something that never came. And then her voice brought them back.

"How does the heart defeat?"

Jorah smiled, like only an old man can; a man who's seen much in his life, a man who's seen what mastery of the mind could do.

"Khal Drogo is a unlike the rest of the Dothraki. When you face him do not think. Feel."

Leora giggled and Jorah enjoyed her short laughter.

"Yes, that sounds wise. To fight my way among his men so that when I'm in front of him, I break into tears and cry. Or flee; if I can…."

"His men are trained to fight; not judge nor think. They are here upon his command; he alone has the privilege of reasoning and with him alone you shall be able to discuss."

"He is not here to discuss Jorah. Otherwise he would have knocked at our gates by now."

"Think more of him Leora or you will be caught off guard in his presence. This man is hard to read; it's in his blood to remain passive to all that surrounds him. To refrain from emotions, to cut deep and stop right before the last drop of blood has been spilt. He could surprise you when you least expect it."

"So what do you suggest my Lord?"

"That you surprise him too. It will distract him, it will catch his eye."

"If I'm smart, I will not try to attract his attention to me. I should rather find a swift way to kill him and be over with it."

Jorah chuckled again short and a bit convulsive. _So young, so immature. So unprepared!_

"I think he is going to like you."

"Jorah, this is not the time to mock at me!"

"Leora listen to me! Never lose your sense of humor. It's the remedy for panic and fear. Shy away if you must, admit the truth about your strength and that of your enemy, it will help you know where you stand. But above all things, be yourself for you are beautiful and that is enough to catch a man's eye. And defeat him."

"It all sounds so good and simple coming from you Mormont. In reality, I fear that man is waiting there convinced that victory is already his. That makes me dead before I even walk out of these gates."

"It does, doesn't it?" silence again. "Because you let him."

"Pardon me?"

"Look out there. Take a look. Do you see them restless? Do you see them moving? Drogo sips on his wine as we speak convinced that at the end of the day he will dine in our throne hall. Now look here. Look at you. You are already practicing how to bow before him when he dines in your home. Do not grant this man such gratuity and empower him before the battle has even started."

"You'd do the same if you were me. You know as well as I, that I'm no match for him." She looked down at the city lying at her feet. "We're no match for them."

"You spoiled and ungrateful child! What if the Wolofs had also been here? Then what? We should have surrendered at the first light of dawn!"

"My people are probably suffering the consequences of our plan right now!"

"Yet I do not believe Cedric is complaining so much!"

_Cedric…_ Her eyes bowed; she missed the support of her general. The dust rose in the distance; the Dothraki were on the move.

"I think it's time." And against the terrifying view of Khal's army coming closer her voice sounded like a whisper of the wind. She turned around towards the door with her hand on the sword handle. She was reluctant to look back. Jorah followed her with confident eyes, but his heart was filled with worry.

_Don't look back princess. We'll see each other again. I'll pray we do._

**W W W ** **W ** **W ** **W W**

She fell on her butt a bit stunned with the blow. She looked like a broken doll and Cedric put her arm around her lifting her up. He pushed her behind him to recover her strength while he took on the Wolof before him. Nersin pushed back the helmet; it irritated her skin and her hair had tangled so badly with sweat and dirt that now it hanged on her forehead like a mass through which she couldn't see anymore. She sneaked her fingers under the metal trying to clear her vision, when a blow in her shoulder blades sent her flying into Cedric's back. Cedric reacted in a split turning around cutting down the soldier attacking her. He pushed her aside to take his knife from between the man's eyes. Nersin watched him with weary eyes as he wiped the blood away; her eyes fell back to the dead Wolof, staring at the cracked skull, the wide lifeless eyes, the white foam bubbling from inside out and she felt sick to her stomach. She bent, pressing down on her chest, trying to control the nausea going up her throat. A loud roar and an ax landed right between her and Cedric. She got thrown to the side with dust in her eye. She thought she had vomited and now she was choking on it. She felt the acid taste in her mouth and she struggled to the side to help her lungs breathe. Her eyelashes were moist with sweat and the dirt got stuck onto them like clay and she could barely distinguish anything. She coughed trying to find her own hand and wipe her eyes clean. But instead her fingers clawed in the grass and she pulled on it harder and harder with the increasing pain in her chest and the stinging in her eyes. She heard the roar again, somewhere above her and like a blind dog she looked up not making much of anything. The sun was shadowed by a moving ghost. The ghost became larger, hiding the sun completely and her gut told her she was in danger. The shape of that man scared her; she screeched her teeth feeling the taste of sand in her mouth but succeeded in forcing her body to roll among the fallen and the legs of those who still stood and fought. Inches behind her the ax hit the ground deep, with a dry blunt sound and her heart decreased to the size of a walnut. _Cedric!_ She looked for her sword but it was gone; she couldn't even remember if she had it in her hand before falling or where she had lost it. A cry behind her and she thought she recognized his voice. She hurried to wipe her eyelashes clean with the tip of her dirty fingers. When she could finally find her way back to the light she saw the glitter of the blade lying in the dirt in front of her. She grabbed the sword quickly, with the urgency of someone who knew little of its use, but acknowledged its outmost importance. She kneeled supporting her weight on the sword until she finally got up and brought it to her chest as if her whole defense stood in that blade. And indeed, it did. Her breath died out slowly and the sounds around her faded; even the light seemed to dim; everything blurred; only he stood tall before her, his eyes piercing through her like daggers. Alchantar Wolof preyed on her with eager eyes. _Cedric!_

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The horses were restless. The men were restless too. Leora looked at the Dothraki piled up in what seemed a cohort of no military logic. Yet it made her fall back a bit in the saddle looking at their appearance. All of Jorah's words could not describe it. The wide leather belts, the animal skins falling to their knees, the long braided tails and beards. The way they held their swords and axes; easily as if they weighted nothing. The air stood still, the heat came down on her so hard she breathed fast feeling her eyebrow sweat; heavy salty drops came down her temples and from underneath the shade of her helmet she searched for him. But they all looked the same. Big, savage, perilous. Wild. _Where are you? _ Her horse neighed and she pulled on the reins trying to keep it calm. She patted him gently on the crest whispering words that also comforted her. But from the top of her eyes she saw the movement in the ranks of the Dothraki. She slowed down, her palm slipped numb on the horse's neck; she fixed the shifting rows of the Water tribe. They were stepping aside as if signaled; bowing their heads to someone she could not see. Until he came forth in plain view and her fingers tangled in the animal's crest. _Merciful Gods!_

The Khal, the Khalasar that she had heard so much about stood before his armies and he looked like no one she had seen before. His men no longer seemed imposing for he outran most of them. Her first instinct was to pull back but she glimpsed at her men and they stood their ground with the same petrified looks on their faces and she felt guilty for being the only coward. She straightened her back and clenched on the reins so tightly the leather burnt her skin. The armor suffocated her all of a sudden. His stature from beyond the small dunes and waves of sand was appealing to her, calling to her to come closer. She wanted to look in the eyes of the man that spread so much fear, yet so much respect. But the way he kept motionless, staring into the distance it made her think he was staring at her; and she felt it searing through her head. She breathed again hating the hotness of the air. _What now?_ She had never led a war on her own, never attacked without being advised, never faced such a large army on such an open battle field. And what an army this was.

Out of nowhere Drogo started walking her way. She breathed louder as if there was not enough air left to breathe. She glanced at her generals but none of them moved. They looked back at her pleading. _I must take the fall…_ she knew what they wanted from her. She turned around in the saddle and looked up at the walls. The archers were ready; soldiers who had seen too few springs or too many winters. Those who had tasted war before kept the young ones behind them as if that could save them when the time came. She went back to Khal. He was walking, undeterred by the sand, by the heat, by her army. Unconsciously, she kicked her horse guiding it away from the first line of defense.

"My Lady!..." The general's voice behind her stopped her in her tracks. "Don't!" She looked at the old man; at his grey beard, in his worried eyes. Then back at Drogo who kept a steady pace approaching her. "He's not here for peace! Don't go my Lady! Don't go!" Leora swept the tip of her tongue across the dry lips and she finally felt the air entering her mouth. She wanted to speak but before she could utter anything, the general's arm went up in the air. "This is our chance!" Her eyes followed his hand and in a blink of an eye she knew what it meant and yelled at him to stop; it was too late. Above her head the arrows released with a fury cutting through the afternoon air with a vengeance. She chased after them and saw Drogo stop, sniffing at the air like a predator. Behind him his men cried and it ripped her apart. And like the wind hits the sea shores before the tide, so did the powders of sand rose to sting her eyes when his men rushed to cover their leader. Shields were thrown so fast so hard she thought they were thrown at her. In the ambush her men cried out embracing the fear that had been gripping on their throats all morning and acted upon it, going insane. She lost track of Drogo; she lost track of her people rushing to their death, unorganized and blinded by a sudden rush of mad courage. There was no turning back; she kicked the horse harder and took her sword out. As she rushed into the chaos lying before her she couldn't help thinking it had all gone terribly wrong.

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She reacted involuntarily pushing the helmet forth to cover her face more; it made her feel safe if she hid behind the metal, but Alchantar wasn't fooled. He had recognized the armor; he thought he had recognized her; his target. His sword came up and the blade shone in the afternoon light. Beads of sweat dropped down her cheeks and her chest murmured with a deaf pain. She glimpsed over her shoulder, but Cedric was left behind and his way to her was blocked by two soldiers struggling to bring him down. They had been separated and now she was on her own. She clenched her fingers on the handle of the sword, getting the feeling of it. Blood was rushing through her veins, her heart beat was erratic; not even the hair in her eye mattered anymore. Alchantar took a step forward and he was so much taller than she imagined him to be. She had heard of him, so many times, so many things, but she had never seen the leader of her tribe. He had a dark beauty, a dangerous attraction and now she understood why they all fell under his spell. Her father was like that; not a dark beauty, but a mind mage. He pushed herself up but almost fell back down when her feet slipped on the bloody grass. She remembered who she was; who she was supposed to be and she knew Leora probably never slipped, never stumbled. Never showed any fear. Nersin straightened her back bringing the sword before her eyes, holding it with both hands. Alchantar grinned; _you're all mine now!_

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Jorah went to his knees slowly, his hands still gripping on the railing; in prayer. He saw the Targaryens running scattered like an infuriated mob and he knew the outcome would be disastrous. _What happened! What happened?_ This couldn't have come for Leora, she was too fearful to start an attack and he was sure she had minded his words before the battle. Why would she throw herself at Drogo in such foolish unthought-of manner? His eyes moved left to right between the intricate carvings in the wall, following the sparkle of the blades disappearing into a cloud of dust. He couldn't tell anymore who was who; it was all a chaos. His heart beat incoherently resonating like a pulsation in his temples. Somehow the dust and the sand rising from the battlefield found its way to his lungs and he choked. His fingers gripped harder on the railing; the pulsation grew stronger in his head, his skin fluttered slightly with the blood pumping heavily underneath and it freed the way for the sweat drops to fall down his temples. For the first time in many years tears were surging in his eyes and he knew it was because of his impotence to be at her side. Among the tears he looked across the battlefield again. _Poor child!_ He had always respected Drogo and during their very few encounters he had gained his approbation and silent attention. But Drogo was a different man in battle.

Years before, he had visited Drogo's camp during the annual tribe meetings. There was a quarrel among his generals; Drogo, much younger at the time, yet not less impressive and persuasive in his attitude, was observing the conflict from his corner without intervening. The discussions had flared to such extent that swords were drawn and threats were made; still the Khalasar did nothing and he was partially amused partially in awe to his calm. Drogo sipped on his wine and dined on his fruit as if nothing was happening. His generals crossed blades; young studs with too much honor to defend and an overwhelming ego to feed. Drogo had picked his men right; he needed fresh blood, with renewed strength at his side. His men had to have the power and resilience to walk and fight and survive for days. But a strong body did not always compensate for the lack of brain and Drogo knew that, but he did not care. He left the reasoning and the decision making to him and to the council. Jorah had dared question his choice at the time and against all odds, Drogo had answered in all truthfulness. _Most of them are brutes; the young ones. Is what I need. _He had paused serving Jorah with his plate of grapes. _It's how it is and must be. Young people have the strength of arms, old people have the strength of mind. _Cunning young man!

Even in his debilitated state Jorah smiled with his forehead pressing against the stone of the railway. Khal Drogo was young himself but used his head more than those his age. He kept his ego at bay and his desires hidden. Jorah's eyes closed for a moment. He saw Drogo get up from his chair, chewing on one last grape. He passed one of his generals taking his sword; the weapon came up and in the shadows of the tent only the chatter of the wind could be heard. But before he could draw another breath, Jorah saw the other general's head fall to the ground, rolling through the dirt. He looked at Drogo, still holding his breath. Khal spat the seeds giving the sword back to his man; this one had kneeled immediately before him, as had all of Dothraki in his presence. _Do you think of me as barbarian?_ He had stretched his hand to help Jorah up but Sir Mormont had taken a moment to observe the calm smile on the young leader's face. _I think you had your reasons. _Jorah had acepted his help to get up from the chair and Drogo waited for him to straighten his bones. _And I think your means are as good as any. I'd say, more efficient than most others. _Later on, he had learnt that the general Khal had killed had been raping his slave girls as reward for his deeds in battle; it was against Drogo's beliefs. He may have taken prisoners, but he did not treat them as slaves. _We are like trees Sir Mormont. Uproot but one from their forest and they will soon wither and die. Dead trees are of no use to me so I water them and give them a reason to live._ Some of his prisoners never left, not even when he allowed them to. He was a good man.

The tears dried on his cheeks. He brought his hands together in prayer. _You are a good man. Be a good man. Don't kill her, Drogo! _

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His sword came down on her so hard it made her knee sink in the grass and she held back with all her might. Her arms shook a bit, but under all the chain metal Alchantar didn't see her weakness. She kept her eyes on him and for once she was thankful for the hair being in her eye protecting her identity further from her attacker. _What would Leora do, what would Leora do? Show no fear!_ She focused her hearing one last time to perceive Cedric's voice in the crowd behind her but the clash of the weapons, the anguish of the wounded and the cries of the men distorted all sounds and she gave up hope of being rescued. _One, two, three!_ She pressed on the knee and brought her body up, slowly, so that Alchantar doesn't perceive the slight shaking in her joints; but the Wolof enjoyed her struggle. Stalking his prey gave him the taste of victory, making her weaker to finally allow himself the taste of a final blow. He looked for her eyes; those pebbles shinning so dauntingly from under the helmet. They had been haunting him and for some reason it was easy for him to admit it now that she was so close to him, so in reach. But his grin froze when his eyes finally found hers. That glow was not there; her eyes were different, they were brighter yet faded. They betrayed fear, moving restlessly to then stop on him in expectation; like a cornered animal. If there was something Leora never did was to avoid his eyes; it's what had attracted him about her. But now she glissaded away from him, sporadically, frightfully as if she took her time observing him, learning his moves, guessing his next attack. Alchantar's eyes narrowed watching the girl move around him slowly, knees bent a little, sword up as if she was taking a stand, but not to attack, just to defend herself and the Wolof became even more incredulous of her attitude. Maybe the rejection at the Targaryen court had demoralized her. _They have taken that glow away from you, Leora! What a shame!_ He grinned again. He would fight her and reignite that spark in her, and turn her back into the leader she had proven herself to be.

Nersin barely had the time to see it coming when Alchantar's sword hit hard on hers almost sending her back to the ground. She rejected the initial attack and fled to the side, trying to catch him off guard. Her sword rushed down to the back of his knees but the fire in the Wolof leader grew stronger and he jumped above the blade rising in the sun and she found herself on her knees again when her sword bit the dirt. She pulled desperate to free it when his leg stepped on the metal forcing the handle out of her hand. Nersin looked at the sword stuck under Alchantar's foot and she didn't dare look him in the eye; in the distance she glanced at a familiar face fighting his way through the enemy. Cedric's forehead was sweaty and dirty, but his arm was restless. Her heart kicked in with hope but before she could even grip on it, Alchantar grabbed her from behind the neck forcing her eyes into his. She felt her neck crack from the pressure and she tried to get up to ease the pain but the Wolof pulled harder almost dragging her up. His face was so close she could not refuse his regard and from beneath the helmet her eyes stared into his and she prayed a wordless prayer.

Alchantar looked at her and it seemed to him she was looking at a child. Now that his body sheltered her face from the sun he could clearly see the green gaze in her eyes and he remained hypnotized with them for a moment. He dropped his sword slowly bringing his hand about to touch the side of her helmet. Her eyes remained fixed into his and he took a moment to search more into that forest depth. It was in his nature to deceive weather through words or actions; so deceit was something he recognized easily. The helmet came off her head slowly releasing the long copper hair and Alchantar's jaw trembled slightly to the sight. His grip loosened up; he took a step back looking at her. White skin stained by bloody mud, heavy eyelids shadowing the lightest green, thin eyebrows burdened by sweat. She looked tiny in that armor. But this was not Leora. His eyes left her, traveling above and around the men fighting across the field. All of this was in vain. His eyes searched for her, as he did not want to believe he had been deceived for the second time. One time was a lesson, two times was an insult and he was taking it personally. He saw Cedric putting another of his men down. He then returned to her and it felt as if his eyes had all of a sudden grown in weight for it hurt to roll them in the eye sockets. Sounds had faded, it was just him standing there in that windless afternoon – and her, kneeled and defenseless, a stranger to his eyes, a decoy. He could have beheaded her right there, on the spot but his hand remained numb as the story behind this entire plan unfolded before his open eyes. _Drogo!_ In a moment of realization, he knew he had to be somewhere else. He looked at Nersin again and chuckled cockily and the sound of it chocked him for he knew he had been tricked. He turned around and left without calling upon his generals; without even retrieving his sword. _I'll kill you all, I'll kill you all. But later._ The words echoed in his head; still his body was inert to his inner anger for it was set to do one thing and one thing alone from that moment; and that was to ride; to ride like spreading fire and warn Drogo before it was too late.

"My Lord! My Lord!" His general ran after him but he was ignored. "My Lord, your sword! The men!" But Alchantar kept walking among the soldiers fighting like mad as if a path had been drawn especially for him and he paced unharmed among the gnashing weapons. The general followed him closely by, fighting his way behind him, struggling to keep up the pace and not die at the same time.

"Call them back. Leave everything behind. We ride to Pentos. Now!"

His general stopped as if struck by lightening. He wasn't sure he understood well but he couldn't ask Alchantar again for he had already disappeared into the crowd. In a glimpse, he saw the girl kneeling in the middle of the men; he saw his king's sword and rushed to get it. He came on his knees before Nersin grabbing the precious weapon. Nersin watched him carefully without caring. Everything had been lost. The only thing he had asked of her was to hold on to their plan for as much as possible. A moment later she was lost without him; her identity betrayed after just a moment of struggle. Tears washed clean traces down her dirty cheeks and things blurred before her eyes. A growl behind her and Alchantar's general fell back with a sudden attack. Cedric jumped her forcing the Wolof general more and more into retreat. But they were all retreating. Cedric looked around quickly; there was no trace of the Wolof. His eyes fell on Ortezza who had just fired his last arrow into a fleeing Wolof. His eyes were asking the same unspoken question. Cedric saw them run leaving weapons and wounded behind; even the general ran. And then it caught up with him; he turned around slowly and saw her staring blankly, with numb hands and loose copper strands stuck to her face. _Nersin, oh Nersin, what have you done!_

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"Ah!" she hit him with all her might, so hard she did not know she had it in her. Her cry made her men push harder into the enemy lines. But there were no lines; the Dothraki fought like loose rebels, unorganized, yet deadly. She was blinded; they were everywhere and she feared she might strike on of their own cutting back and forth like a mad woman. Her legs were so tense they hurt and she had curled her toes so hard in the leather wrappings, they had turned numb. But her arm continued to fly above the horse's crest, making her way further into the heart of the Dothraki army. One of them came rushing from the side and she couldn't free her foot from the saddle fast enough to hit him; he grabbed on her leg and tried to pull her off the saddle. In her struggle to cling on to the reins she kicked back with her head breaking the man's eyebrow with her helmet; it gave her just enough time to get back on the saddle and kick him right in the face. The soldier lost balance and fell back a step, not nearly enough for her to regain her strength. It was too hot and the armor weighed heavily on her tiny body. But she was so scared her only thought was to survive and nothing else mattered. The man attacked again, so viciously she had to improvise something to bring him down. She turned her sword around and sent the handle flying in between his eyes. She expected that to be the final blow, but the Dothraki just shook his head then looked at her as if she had finally stirred his interest in the fight. He grabbed her with both hands and threw her off the horse as if she were a child. She rolled in the dirt and when she stopped she coughed the sand out trying to clear her nose and eyes from the dust. She barely turned her head around when his foot slammed in her stomach sending her across the small dunes, bouncing like a ball. She landed face up, the sun in her eyes, no air in her lungs. It was impossible to breathe. Her body twisted suffocating under the force of the blow. Her hand released the sword, then clenched again, in spasms. A shadow above her and she felt lifted off the ground.

"My Lady! My Lady, breathe!"

Water! Water on her face! Water in her mouth! She choked again and almost burst into tears thinking she'd been salvaged from certain death. A hand rubbed down her eyes clearing her vision but before she could open them, her guardian angel was taken away from her. She fell back into the sand hearing the man cry. Two blunt sounds of an ax or a spear planted into a body and then the morbid gush of a dieing man. She turned her head around and cracked her eyes open to see her general dead at the feet of the same Dothraki she had tried to kill. Her eyes focused difficultly and in the sparkling sand she saw the handle of her sword. She stretched until her shoulder ached and her breath died out again, but she got it. The soldier set his eyes on her again. She turned to the side, so slowly, she was sure she would feel his blade in between her ribs before she could even get on one knee, but she turned nonetheless. She came on all four, looking down at the sand beneath her, breathing regularly to keep the blood pumping in her hot temples. _Why isn't he coming? Why isn't he striking?_ She didn't bother look; she pushed her body up and from where she stood, on her knees she saw him waiting for her. She would have smiled if she could've; but her face was numb, her skin scratched, her eyes red and swollen from the sand. She supported her weight on the sword and stood up, dragging her sword enough to bring it before her. She dangled; it was hard keeping steady and she knew she needed her balance back. She dug slowly with her feet in the sand, burying her soles inside for stability. Now she was ready. _I must do this right! Must do… must…_ Her mind spoke for her lips were too bloody and chapped. She felt the sweet taste of blood in her mouth; her fingers curled around the handle of the sword and all of her energy, all of her strength flowed into her arms, preparing her for what would be her salvation or her doom.

Drogo saw the soldier run straight at him. But before he took another step, his dagger found a resting place in the middle of his forehead. The Khalasar bent and removed it gently, as if he was taking an ax out of a log. He cleaned the blade on his furs and looked unsatisfied with having dishonored the blade of his ancestors on such easy unworthy prey. Another Targaryen sneaked on him from the side and he elbowed him to the ground before stepping on his throat. He heard the neck crack; the man's eyes remained fixed on him and Drogo observed him silently knowing his spirit had left the body. He was a silent warrior; he did not care to frighten the enemy through his cries and display of savageness. His fame did that for him. He looked above the masses looking for her; she should have been easy to distinguish. They had told her she was slender and rather withdrawn. Fearful and demented; an easy prey as the Wolof said. His eyes searched again. One of his men had probably gotten to her first. He sneered unhappily; he wished he had talked to her first; he had wished for that, but she gave him no chance with her foolish attack. _Mindless girl!_ His fist found his way under the chin of a soldier crushing his tongue in between the teeth and the man yelled in pain, his mouth pouring with blood. From behind, another Dothraki ended his misery and Khal saw the Targaryen fall to his feet. His man bowed to him before continuing his killing spree. Something was wrong; these people didn't seem to fight; or maybe they hadn't fought in so long they had forgotten how it's done. They were weak and scared. Drogo took another look around and saw that his men were cutting through the Targaryen ranks. And then, from the top of his eyes, as he stood there, in the middle of it all, he saw him. It was impossible to miss that tiny skinny man, holding such a big sword as if it were too heavy to even lift; less fight with it and it caught his attention. His eyes narrowed observing the little man as he took one insecure step at a time, with his much taller man chasing his every move. But it didn't take long for his Dothraki to get bored and attack and Drogo turned away convinced the young Targaryen couldn't survive the ambush. But before he could part his eyes from him, his man stopped abruptly and his cry made Drogo stop in turn. He looked back and saw his soldier bent on top of the tiny Targaryen. And then with a push, his Dothraki rolled in the sand with a small knife rooted deeply in his stomach. The Targaryen crawled from underneath his dead body and soon a few others came to help him up. The way they cared for him, so gently… Unconsciously, Drogo walked towards them and his men built a path for him through the battle field.

"My Lady, are you alright!" But she felt too sick to speak. She had felt the warm blood of that man bathe her hand and now it made her want to puke. She could fight, but she could not kill. It wasn't right! It enraged her and she pushed them away grabbing her sword; it slipped from her wet hand, but anger gave her strength. She took a few steps, pushing down on the moving sand when he saw a path opening among the men. It looked as if the waters of the sea had split in two allowing him to pass and she stood her ground watching him approach her. She did not need to ask, for she knew who he was and all of her earlier courage melted in the early afternoon sun. Her eyes opened wide, her hand felt slippery for the first time. She was grateful her helmet was still on. She glanced at his big hands and they looked like weapons to her. Her breathing became agitated again. The men watched them silently; Dothraki and Targaryens alike knew this would decide the fate of the war for them. Their leaders were about to cross blades.

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"There was nothing she could do!"

"Do not defend her!" Cedric yelled and Ortezza was too tired to put more strength in his words and convince his friend no one was to blame for their unsuccessful mission.

"It will take Alchantar at least a day to get to Pentos! Much can happen in a day!"

"He left everything behind Ortezza! His weapons, his supplies, his wounded and his dead! Even his infantry! His infantry Ortezza! We both know what that means! He wants to travel light and get there before sunset! And the day has just begun!" Cedric didn't seem to find his peace pacing nervously through the throne hall.

"He won't make it that early! Unless he is favored by the Gods the sun will set before he arrives to Pentos." Ortezza held his breath shortly considering other options. "Maybe there is more to his plan than we know. Not even he can afford leaving troops behind! He needs them to fight!"

"He doesn't need his men in Pentos! He never did, that's why Drogo's there!" He finally sat down in a chair, hiding his head away in his dirty palms. His shoulder ached and he pressed down on it for a moment. When he looked again his palm was bloody; he closed his eyes cursing the moment when he had not been careful.

"Have that taken care of and rest for the night. What is done is done and all we can do now is wait." Ortezza didn't look at him and he didn't sound worried. He was too tired for that as well. But when Cedric continued to sit he yelled for one of the girls rushing to bring more water from the other room.

"Girl! Girl!" She came fast and bowed before him looking scared. There was blood on her apron and even though she had rolled up her sleeves they were soaked in blood as well. It gave him a bitter taste in his mouth. "Take him! Give him a bath! His wounded!"

"I don't need –"

"You order me around all the time! So shut it and go!" Ortezza put his last efforts into demanding obedience from his long time brother in arms. "I don't want to wait alone, brother." They shared a regard for a moment and Cedric approved of his request, getting up slowly to follow the girl. Ortezza sighed and for the first time that morning it felt like he had actually breathed air and not fire.

She looked at her hands and they shook. They were swollen and the veins protruded from under the think pale skin, looking like pulsating blue rivers and she pressed on them watching them swell. She sank her hands in the cold water and even though it gave her a good feeling, the guilt inside took that small happiness away from her. She was naked waste up, with her tunic hanging from her hips. She glimpsed at her feet. They were dirty and swollen like her hands. Bloody. Her feet were bloody, her hands, her face. The water in the vessel was bloody and the small red flowers painted on the white enamel were mingling colors with the remains of blood. Her eyes darkened with tears again. She rushed down and threw cold water on her face, again and again until it stung her eyes. She looked out of the window and as the sound of the water calmed down she could hear the cries in the market. The cries of the widows, of the mothers, of the wives of those left behind; dead. Water dripped from her chin down between her breasts, marking sinuous paths through the dirt settled on her neck and chest, until it reached her waist, being sucked hungrily by the dry material. She heard the door opening.

He was half naked, with just his pants on and a bandage on his shoulder. Cedric looked at her standing with her back at him and couldn't help looking at her bruises. Against her white skin, the blows were so visible; it looked like she had been beaten. He could not feel mercy for her right now. He stepped hard, purposefully to attract her attention, but she barely moved her head to look at him.

"A little, that's all I've asked for! A little time! Not for her, not for us, but for you!" and he cried. Nersin startled with the unexpected rise in his tone. "For you and Dene!"

She wanted to turn around and face him. Somehow she did not care about her nudity anymore; she cared for what he had to say, about what she was feeling.

"Why for me and why for Dene! This is not our war! I helped you! You asked and I helped you! What more do you want from me!"

"You selfish –" but he did not bring himself to finish the sentence; the anger and the anguish of the day took the better of him. He grabbed her by the elbows turning her around to face him. But he did not expect her to be just as angry as him. They breathed in silence like two animals ready to jump at each other's throat.

"I don't owe you anything! I did not oblige you to take me in the morning you found me!"

"You snake of a woman! What would you have done in my place?" and his voice never lowered.

"Not send someone whom I've just rescued into a ragging war! A war I don't even understand!" she sobbed quickly hating herself for such a display of weakness. She had forgotten all about her breasts bouncing slowly with each jolt of her body; their eyes were so focused on each other that neither of them seemed interested in the details of their nakedness. "I'm so small, I don't even matter for your cause!" and she bit on the words bitterly, feeling like all of her dreams and hopes for a peaceful future had been burnt to ashes. Her eyes filled with tears again and it hit deep inside him. He groaned pushing her away. It angered her even more. Now he was mild; now he was cruel. Now he yelled at her, now he pushed her away! _No man can ever treat me this way again! All of you! You're all the same!_ And those long awaited tears finally found their way down her cheeks. She rushed to him and forced him around pushing him against the table and he didn't see it coming. She crushed her tiny body against him and for the first time since he had entered the room he acknowledged her; the girl, copper hair and plump lips, the full breasts now pressing against his chest and he fired up with a different feeling. She held tight with her hands around his waist, too small to reach up to his lips without him bending a little. But she struggled and she placed a short heavily breathed kiss on his collar bone.

"I know this is what you want! What you really want!" Cedric blinked short and fast, her touch and her closeness fogging his mind. "No need to pretend with all false interest in my well fare and that of my brother. If I were rich, if I had a name for myself, then I would have let you name your price. For I know nothing comes for free. But as I have nothing –" and she stopped to helplessly and unsuccessfully prevent another flow of tears flood her face "- this is the only price I can pay. So take it. You've been thinking about it ever since the day I came here." And by the time she finished she sounded bitter, yet her spirit remained undeterred. She knew he had higher hopes, she knew he had asked her for more, but she couldn't do it. She had fallen before Alchantar too soon, their secret revealed too fast and now she couldn't undo what had been done. But she had to secure her brother's safety. She hadn't learnt much from her father, but one thing had become clear to her after he had forced her to work in that brothel of his. The anger of men could always be melted by the pleasure in their groin. She closed her eyes with renewed disgust born out of memories that had never left her. Her lips fell on his chest again, but somehow the taste of skin, the smell of his body, cold and fresh made her struggle with her disgust. It frustrated her she couldn't feel disgusted by him; she had to if she wanted to subdue him like this. If she wasn't disgusted, then what else could she be? She didn't know of any other feelings for men, she had never felt differently. Her thoughts roamed but so did her lips and before she could realize it she had gone from his shoulder to his neck and tip-toed to reach under his chin and Cedric continued to stay frozen. His lips had gone dry; his arms remained numb on the side of his body and all he could feel was an annoying pulsation in his groin, and her hot small kisses on his right shoulder. His teeth clenched. He couldn't even understand her. What was she trying to do? What could he do? He looked down at her and for one second their eyes met just before he deiced to capture her lips and he stopped breathing feeling that mouth on his again. It got him dizzy; it got her dizzy.

Nersin pulled back, tortured by this new feeling she did not comprehend. She was deceived by her own doing. It was turning against her, but it was too late. Cedric's arms had now come to life encircling her waist. Her eyes fell to his wounded shoulder and unknowingly she placed a soft kiss next to the bandage, staring at the wound; she was afraid to move now. Reality had rained down on her and she felt there was no way out of her foolish plan. His eyes were burning her temples and she looked him and just as he had done with her, they shared one last look before she rushed to take his mouth with hers so forcefully all he could do was groan deep in his throat. Cedric came to life, forcing her lips open, sinking his tongue inside and he almost lifted her off the ground, embracing her closer and she gripped on his shoulders involuntarily. His head fell to the side suddenly, changing angle and she barely had the time to breathe before he kissed her again. _No, no, no! _She looked for anchorage somewhere on his body to push her way out of his imprisoning embrace, but there was nothing; nothing that she could touch and that wouldn't call her back to him. She struggled, deafened by the drums of her heart, baffled by her own reaction to his kisses and Cedric let her go.

He stared at her as if they were seeing each other for the first time and she took a step back, ready to run. She dug in his eyes searching for that one thing that would reveal the liar, the man inside him that wanted to harm her. But all she saw was a man reaching out for her; just reaching out for her and she didn't know what that meant. She saw him stretch his hand towards her but she didn't go for it; instead she pulled another step back. And the closer he came, the further away she stepped from him.

"Nersin…" Her lips parted, her eyes widened and more tears dropped on her pale skin. His voice resounded in her head clear and hoarse, like in her dream, calling for her and it uprooted her for a moment from the surrounded reality. But it was enough for him to grab her and force her back into his arms. She struggled like a caged animal but Cedric didn't let go. She scratched him, she groaned, she bit, she moaned. She cried. But he wrestled her on the bed, falling on top of her kicking and biting like a wild animal and her untamed raged concerned him. She yelled one last time, giving all she could and it would have terrified him if it hadn't been for the tears flowing relentlessly in her hair. She stopped; sobbing, weakened, defeated, with her eyes in his and she was pleading, for something she herself did not fully apprehend. But she was pleading; maybe she just wished he proved her to be a different man, one that would make a difference in her young wretched life. Cedric watched her unfold before his eyes and whatever grudge he held against her was now a matter of the past. _What do you want from me?_ Her breathing soothed his face and he felt her nails sliding down his sweaty back. He discovered his fingers curled in her hair and perceived her slight movement underneath him; his eyes became eager and he slid his hand on the side of her breast and in between their bodies and she closed her eyes turning her head around. They all did the same, so now she waited for him to take her. _It's what you wanted, isn't it? Dene will be safe…_ But the thought of her brother's safety didn't mend the pain of him proving to be like all others. And she waited for the inevitable; and she waited, with her eyes shut tightly, but it never came. She opened them again to look at him and he was looking at her, waiting as well. And when they finally met, he bent to kiss her, so gently, so unexpectedly loving that it took her breath away. His hands came to life, massaging every tiny portion of her skin, up her ribs to her breasts and he pushed his body to the side to reach them faster. His lips never left her, his tongue took the air from her and she locked her arms around his neck not knowing what to do, but feeling it was right and he took advantage pulling her even closer. His knee came in between hers, parting them enough to push her body up his and he trailed down her neck, spreading fire across her skin, in between her breasts, until they finally fell prisoners to his hungry mouth. He let his tongue roam around the plentiful globe, one at a time, circling the dark nipples who dared him shamelessly and he darted for them eagerly. She tasted like salt and dirt, sweet and spicy and it stirred a twirl of emotions in his stomach. Nersin freed him for her grip the moment he sucked on her buds, so gently, yet so feverishly, sending her to a world of sensations she had never known. He bit and licked them, up and down and round and round, pushing her breasts up to reach all of her sensitive sides and she arched beneath him. It shamed her to ask for him, and she could not admit the betrayal of her own body, but it was beyond her to control it. She lifted her head in an attempt to free herself but the image of him feeding on her breasts cost her that will and she fell back on the sheets hating herself for being so weak.

Cedric saw her give in and he didn't know whether to rejoice his victory or leave her before it was too late. _Too late for what?_ He stopped for a moment, truly not knowing what to make of this girl. The sight of her, so beautiful, so fragile, lying there, for him to have, contorted his mind and he gave in to the urge of having her. As he struggled with his pants he felt guilty for doing this; it was what he had wanted right from the beginning; but it was more than that, it was… his hand slipped beneath her tunic pushing aside the material covering her core and he slid his fingers up her cleft intentionally, not resisting the desire to feel her ready for him. And it scorched his hand, so moist, so hot; he felt it, her sensitive spot and he touched the swollen bud with his thumb, massaging it gently. She responded with an invitation that made him succumb and burry his face in the crook of her neck groaning before even beginning. He couldn't wait anymore. He sneaked his hand between her legs bringing them further apart, enough for him to fit in between them and before she could follow his movement he fell inside her, slowly at first, probing her, until her core took him in entirely and when he reached her limits she choked with a cry she did not want to voice. He caught her arching body in his arms, letting all his weight drop on her, and pushed harder inside her hips, with his teeth biting in her flesh and she paid him back leaving long fiery marks on his back. He rocked harder inside her and with each thrust she felt her skin would melt and her cheeks with burst into fire with how her blood was boiling inside. He cut through her deep, in circles, or straight, to her very end, making her moan; but she did not want to give him that pleasure yet. She did not trust him entirely; she did not trust herself entirely with this man. But he wanted more; he wanted it all. He grabbed on the covers for support and struck inside her faster and harder, vengeful for not hearing her crown his name and their love making. She felt it; she felt his annoyance and wanted to sooth it the best way she knew how. She forced his head up and kissed him with all her might causing him to soften his mad thrusts in her. Cedric kissed her back; he kissed her tenderly but kept the rhythm of his hips against her sweet plea and her embraces intensified, trying to convince him to slow down. Instead he sank his tongue in her ear, biting on her lobe and she pushed him away, broken with her unsuccessful attempt to calm his assaults. He claimed her body possessively, one thrust at a time, so deep, a deaf pain resounded in her womb and she gripped on his buttocks trying to warn him. He pushed her knees up, coming down on her slower, but just as deep and soon the pain was gone but the pleasure striking inside her drained her every fiber. She cried, hanging from his shoulders and he was remotely satisfied to hear this last stance of her defense fall as he pushed inside her one last time before finding his own release. It exhausted him and he fell to her side, weakened and trembling.

Nersin stared at the ceiling waiting for her body to regain from the shock of this incredible love making. _Love making…_ She had never made love to a man before. And Cedric had been harsh on her, had possessed her roughly, without uttering one good word to her. Yet it felt like love making and she could tell, because it had never happened to her before. Cedric looked at her as she lay motionless at his side; she was shivering slightly, covered in a thin layer of sweat. He put his arm underneath her and tried rolling her to him but she opposed him. His lips narrowed; was there something, anything, that she could do that he asked, without fighting him? He forced her to his chest and held her tight until she gave in. Her heart was beating frantically and he followed its rhythm until it calmed down under the gentleness of his caress. He could finally sigh; he had forgotten all about the battle. All about Leora. _Leora…_ But the name didn't startle him anymore. He straightened his hold in Nersin's body, locking his hands around her. He thought it would be easier now, that this happened. But he found himself staring at the ceiling, with her eyelashes flickering against his skin and other than not letting go of her, he still didn't know what to do with this girl.

**W W W ** **W ** **W ** **W W**

She looked at him from behind the helmet and in her head, searched crazily for Jorah's words. But they seemed meaningless now. The man must've forgotten how big Drogo was, how menacing he looked. How cruel he looked. She breathed in and out and it seemed her breathing covered the sounds of the world. Was he so still and silent that she could only hear herself pace? Drogo looked indifferent to her menacing position. He had not moved an inch since coming before her, while she looked like a caged lion. Again; in and out; _what are you waiting for?_

Drogo looked at this young man. It was almost amusing how tiny he looked. He thought that without the armor he was probably nothing more than a sack of bones. He smiled keeping his eyes on the small creature circling him. The Targaryen's eyes moved slightly, passing him by and he realized he was looking at the crowd behind them. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the soldiers had stopped fighting to watch them. _It can't be!_ He turned towards the challenger again, this time with renewed interest. _Daenerys?_

He took a step! He took a step towards her! Leora's heart startled violently, almost draining her chest of blood and it echoed in her already bruised knees. Her breathing became louder. _Attack damn it! Attack me now! _Her heart could only take this much pressure. She was ready now. _Come on!_

Drogo sneered, caressing his beard, slowly and observantly, taking another step closer to his victim. Could it be that Daenerys Targaryen had just killed one of his men? The tiny mild woman Alchantar had told him about; the fragile princess who had barely walked outside her city walls, a murderer? And one foolish enough to address him? He was challenged. No woman had ever challenged him; he found it hilarious. But he would indulge her; after all he felt pleased to find her alive. Maybe after her little display of manhood they could have a word and settle matters in a less violent way. He hated being in the sun for too long, especially for no apparent reason. He wanted to call her name, but he thought it would scare her. Women had fought him before; like desperate caged animals looking for an escape from being captured. But never a princess armed and wounded. He stopped signaling her to come for him. She stopped looking at him as if she did not understand. Drogo hated the sun blinding him; he wished for a breeze of wind, anything to help him distinguish her features.

Leora looked at him standing tall and proud before her. He had signaled her to attack. _I must be mad!_ She screeched her teeth but brought her sword up and in a second she sprang for him. She stopped abruptly right before him sending her blade straight at him. He flinched to the side and she missed. She regained position fast, trying again, but again, she missed. She took a deep breath striking one more time. She shouldn't give him time to attack back. She went back and forth and about him failing in all her attempts until the sword started weighing heavily in her tired hands. It annoyed her with his arrogance. He hadn't even pulled his sword out. She turned with her back at him leveling the sword with her eyes then took a moment to acknowledge her weapon and the force in her arms. One last breath and she span on her heal sending her blade through the air aiming at his throat. He bent before it could reach him, spinning beneath her; he hit her across the legs and she lost balance falling on her back. She was thankful for the sand softening her fall. She scrambled to get up and he was waiting for her; same smile, but maybe less arrogant.

Drogo brushed away the sand on his palms looking at her pushing the helmet back to clear her vision. She may have been small but she was definitely trying. He had not expected it; nevertheless, the girl must have not weighed her odds evenly if she ordered the attack against him without even speaking to him first. Seasoned leaders would have known better; but she was young. His thoughts were interrupted when she rushed her blade in his face again; he stepped to the side wondering if no one had told her to never take on someone his size. A little more of his patience and then he would put an end to this game.

Her breathing in her head was all she heard and that smile on his face was all her eyes could see. She was going to prove herself; none of her struggle and Jorah's fading away would be in vain. She cried her frustration out and sped towards him one last time; and she hit and she bent, and she span and she hit again. Drogo anticipated all of her moves, avoiding her blade with each strike.

He almost felt like taking his sword out; she was a little pest this woman. She had to be taught a lesson before her own men. She tried again and when she left her guard unprotected he sent his fist right in her face. She flew steps away from him, on her back; motionless. An unexpected gust of wind rushed through his hair and he could hear the flags flutter across the battle field that had now grown unbelievably quiet. He looked at her; she tried to get up; it took her a while, but she only managed to sit, to then fall back again. Half of her face was numb and she wondered whether she still had all her teeth. She spit blood.

He shadowed her with his imposing stature but in a way she was grateful for the shade. Drogo looked down at her not really knowing what to do. He looked at his men wanting to call them to lift her up and take her to his tent. Then looked at her again thinking how little dignifying that would be for her. After all, she had fought him; or at least she had tried. He bent himself, on one knee and his men fretted at the sight. He pushed the helmet off her head, forced her to sit and brought her chin up. Her chestnut hair was a tangled mess and he wished for that wind to blow again. Touching her face was too much for him; she looked so puny, so dirty and worn out, that touching her felt like a sign of weakness on his part. But nothing happened; the Gods did not wish to grant him this small favor and the wind never returned. He used his index finger to clear her face away expecting to see her eyes bowing to him. Instead, charcoal pebbles burnt vividly from underneath the brown locks, pinning him in place, right where he stood and his fingertip remained frozen on her cheek. She watched him with daring tired eyes and his initial theory that she could have been foolish and acted irrationally, lost value. Perhaps this was part of her plan. He focused his attention around to grasp on any possible ambush; he groaned deep inside. The men remained still, watching them. He looked at her again but there was no sign of her fearing him. She stared at him in a way no woman in his tribe would ever dare. Her nose was bleeding; her lips were chapped and swollen and blood was dripping from the corner of her mouth. Her eye would soon swell as well, but she would not release him from her sight. He got up, shadowing her again. It was hard for her to follow him now; she was tired and he was so tall she lost track of his features. But those green eyes of his haunted her; darkened by the thick eyebrows. The scar on his cheek had captivated her attention and against all odds, there was something in this man, that from afar she had not seen; something rational and reasonable that did not scare her. _I have gone mad…_

She saw him stepping away from her and wondered what that meant. Was it over? Or was this just her sentence to death that he didn't utter out loud? Through the fog of her own thoughts she saw two of his men approach her. Before she could do anything, they swept her off her feet carrying her across the battle field and towards his tent. She wished she could scream; but as her head fell backwards, all cries got stuck in her throat and her eyes closed baring the image of her men dropping their weapons to the ground.


	14. Chap 13  Seeds in the wind

**Seeds in the Wind**

She opened her eyes to semi-darkness and weather it was the night or just the swell in her eyelids that made it so hard for her to see, she didn't know, but it took her a while before clearing her foggy eyes. She turned her head slightly and it fell to the side heavily; it was a rock hanging from her neck, pulling on her weakened shoulders. She felt each tendon, each muscle stretch in her neck and she thought that moving her head back would take all of her strength, so she didn't even try. She could see fires burning outside; the light penetrated in playful shadows through the tarp. It flickered against golden vessels and weapons spread across the tent. She couldn't see much of anything else. She thought to get up, but when she succeeded in moving just her fingers she knew it was going to be a struggle. She leaned to the side, trying to roll over, thinking afterwards she could crawl her way up, but even that was an inhuman effort. She fell back with sweaty eyebrows and tears in her eyes. She was drained; her body had become the tomb of her soul and did not allow her to roam free outside this place she was in. Her chest moved up and down slowly and she felt grateful for it. She was alive, but other than that she knew nothing, she remembered nothing. The bright light of the early afternoon that day came to her mind, the slippery image of the Targaryens dropping their weapons. That was all she remembered. The tarp flapped with a gust of wind and it cooled her burning body; her hands began to shake; she was cold with a fever.

** W**

Illyrio watched Jorah Mormont arrange his best clothes, pulling the cape a bit more on his shoulders, straightening the massive golden chain hanging from his tired fragile neck. It had been a while since he'd seen his old friend so nervous. He wished to comfort him, like he always did; throughout their many years together at the court he had been the optimistic one, trying to make a too down to earth Jorah take things a little lighter. But whatever he could say at this time, it would have been a lie so he did not insist. Instead he put his hand on Sir Mormont's shoulder to ease his anguish and the gesture sufficed to make the old man stop looking like a frightened swallow facing winter time. Drogo entered the tent followed by few of his generals, the only ones allowed to sit at his side during such meetings. They were there to observe and give word to the Council that Drogo kept his word and respected their decision. Yet tonight, he will use that free will and decide for himself. He looked at the two Targaryen nobles. He knew little about the Magister, but when his eyes fell on Sir Mormont he recognized a friend and honest man.

Jorah bowed before the Dothraki leader as did Illyrio. But he did not expect Drogo's hand on his shoulder, helping him up, yet again, like many years before.

"It has been a while, Sir Mormont."

"It has been indeed, Khalsar." Against all odds, the war that had brought them together and the many years that had passed in between, they still looked at each other with the same respect and understanding.

"Sit." He left them to take his seat across the tent and his men sat at his side, forming a circle. Eerie silence; only the deaf smoldering of the flames in the torches around the tent disturbed the air. Drogo spoke first. "I wish we had done this earlier, without having to waste each other's time."

"You are right, Drogo."

But the Khalasar didn't seem happy with his attitude; Jorah had never been limited in his responses but now it seemed that his wits had dried and his guts had shrunk, like cut grass left to die in the sun. He rested his face in his palm, sliding on a side comfortably, waiting for more from Jorah. The Targaryen knew he had to do better than this if he wanted any sort of understanding with him. But Jorah took his time and Khal's eyes fell on him, worryingly. His green gaze gave way to suspicion, his eyebrows frowned; still waiting.

Mormont looked at him and he could guess from the depth of his eyes that Drogo was observing him closely. It was of no use to excuse Leora now for her actions earlier in the day. Invoking a misunderstanding wouldn't have changed the facts for the Khalsar. He had been attacked and dragged into a battle that could have been avoided. Explaining what had been done would have been more of a loss of time for him still, so he had to approach matters differently.

"I know why you are here." Jorah spoke calmly and he was grateful his voice didn't screech like it had been lately. Drogo's eyes sparkled, with a tiny raise of his eyebrow and a flicker of a smile in the corner of his lips. He waited. "And you have every right to demand it from us. The Throne of the Westeros has lost its former glory and its pride and honor along with it. But with your guidance and advice, we can regain it and set things right for people; our people, your people; as it's right to do."

"If I may my Lord, mighty Khalasar!" Jorah's face went pale, white as a sheet of paper. His hand shook and he placed it quickly on his knee, but remained with his eyes into Drogo's, even though they had almost lost color when hearing Lorday's voice from behind him. Illyrio turned back at once almost hitting him with his staff, but he refrained in the last minute knowing he had to be careful and not attract more suspicion. If it hadn't been for the Council, they would have left this leach behind, but they were forced to take him in the Dothraki camp. Illyrio looked at him in the most threatening way possible; one wrong word from Lorday and Leora's cover could be blown away. Jorah waited with his back at the young noble and his attitude forced Illyrio to follow his example leaving Lorday room to address the Khalasar. And he didn't waste any time in doing so. "My lords, if we are to discuss peace, we should all be here then."

"We are all here." And for the first time Lorday felt incredibly small against the rough low voice coming from Drogo's mouth. He was different than anyone he'd faced before.

"Our understanding my Khalasar, is that Alchantar Wolof had joined forces with you, in this… proceeding." He bowed his eyes quickly remembering his statute before the Khal. It wasn't in his nature to bow, but he cared for his life so he stepped on his pride and did it.

"Your understanding does not concern me!" He straightened his position in the chair, bending forward to make sure the young Targaryen understood perfectly what he said. "We are all here." His eyes shifted back to Jorah and he disliked this weakness he saw in him.

"Continue, Sir Mormont."

"I believe it is you who should tell us what is on your mind. I dare to believe I know you a little and from my scarce knowledge I reckon you wouldn't have left to war without a plan in mind." Jorah kept his eyes bowed and Drogo tried to catch a glimpse of them. Jorah was one man that he wanted to look him in the eye.

"No one would come unprepared to war."

"Yet very few come prepared for the aftermath." And Jorah finally granted him his regard. Drogo sustained it for a little while and smiled. He knew what the old man said. People battled, spending nights to forge flawless military strategies; but they never considered what would happen after the battle was over. Not even plundering was easy; less asking for peace. But he did; he always planned everything ahead, from the moment he left his tribe to the moment he returned, otherwise his men and his riches would have been spent carelessly and perhaps in vain.

"What I want is simple. You must stop arranging trading for the others and give the tribes the freedom they need to buy their own supplies at the right price. Your location at the gates of the Northern Kingdoms does not empower you to take charge of trading. And if at least you had done right. But while your men are feasting others are starving."

"I Know my Khalasar."

"The loss of your King is not an excuse. Neither is your poor judgment as a Council."

"Unfortunately you are right in everything you say Drogo. But you are also familiar to these traditions, for you must obey your own Council. The power does not lie with one man alone and thus one cannot change the course of things if he must fight against the tide."

"Do you stand alone in this struggle?" Drogo waited looking at Jorah, and he turned his back towards Illyrio signaling the Khal that the Magister was his only other weapon of defense within the Targaryen Council. Drogo fell back in his chair, walking his hand slowly on his beard, observing both men silently. But with the corner of his eye, he saw Lorday fretting behind them.

"Yet you have gone against the Council's decisions many times Sir Mormont."

"At no avail. Little does it matter if one flower breaks through the snow; alone it will not bring spring upon the land."

"What of her?"

Jorah's heart kicked in and his cheeks blossomed. To Drogo's eyes it meant more than words telling him that Sir Mormont cared for Daenerys. He must have been her only shield against the nobility. His earlier thoughts invaded his mind again. Before the battle, when watching the high walls of Pentos he had remembered the council's words. He remembered Alchantar pleading. But no! The tribes were left better off on their own, each with their duty to their land and the Gods. But the Wolof was right about one thing. No one else could help settle peace and administer these affairs better than the most powerful tribe among them all; his tribe. And at that moment he realized that having an alliance with the Westeros throne not only would have helped him control their greed but also keep Alchantar and his men from plundering and scheming against the smaller tribes, like the Tekaras. But just a peace treaty could not grant him that much power.

Jorah looked at the Dothraki leader and from his experience with Drogo he knew something was going on. He never let anything transpire but now he seemed to lose track of their conversation for a moment, with his mind elsewhere. _What's on your mind Drogo?_

"Daenerys does not find approbation within the council due to her fragile estate." Khal looked at him and his eyes demanded a clearer answer. "She is a kind soul left alone to face the consequences of her brother's deeds."

"I wasn't told she could fight."

"She does what she must when it comes to defending her people."

"All she defended was the interest of your nobility."

"It is the only thing she can do. She is just as impotent against them as we are, as long as she is not admitted to the throne."

"She has the right to that throne by blood and no one can deny it."

"Where you come from, you make the law. Where she was born the law is made by others and it doesn't always follow the teachings of our ancestors. It bends and molds to the Council's needs until it breaks and she is now left to mend that rupture. She is not to blame."

"What is a princess worth if she can't take her throne?"

A silent moment fell between them and Lorday munched unhappily behind Illyrio but the Magister's staff in his foot stopped him from taking further action.

"Not much." And Jorah was overwhelmed with sadness; Daenerys had been a kind soul and she was sacrificed for nothing and now Leora stood in peril because of the same wrong doings of a hand dull of people who cared less for the well fare of others.

"I have a proposition to make you." Jorah's heart startled. _This is it!_ "Leave us!"

His generals looked at him surprised, but the Khalasar didn't seem impressed and showed them the way out. One of them opened his mouth to talk but Drogo did not let him, otherwise he would have suffered the consequences of his short temper. He was about to do something he had not done before and he needed to be alone. "Now!" His generals got up and left one by one; Khal looked at Lorday and Illyrio was but happy to kick him out as well. The three of them were left and the tent seemed much bigger all of a sudden. Drogo took his time and Jorah grew more anxious; his earlier feeling that the Khal was planning something was now strong in his heart.

"I will marry her." Illyrio fell back into his chair as if struck by the mighty Gods themselves and Jorah, against all his predicaments, locked his mouth so to keep his astonishment at bay and unheard. A long moment followed where none of them dared to break the silence, nor face each other, staring blankly. Jorah forced his mouth open.

"The Council…?"

"It is my decision."

"Against the Coucil…" And finally their eyes met and they hovered around each other for another moment weighing the validity of his words. Not even the Khalasar held all the power in the heart of his tribe. He was bound by the decisions of his council and surely his council was not willing to receive a stranger as their Queen. Drogo sensed their suspicion but he understood their concern. It concerned even him to step across the line he had always obeyed before. But he had warned the council that the final decision would be his.

"I do not trust Alchantar, he will never repent and he will never stop. It's in his nature to burn until the very flame in his chest burns out and dies. And he will scorch many in his path. And I do not trust your council with taking the right decision, nor do I trust that they will hurry to help the tribes. The times of Aerys II are long gone and with them the light of these lands. Mad he was, but sane in his decisions."

"What you ask…" Jorah laid back in his chair as well, considering Drogo's words.

"Will help us all. Now that she'd have a king, Daenerys cannot be denied her throne and I will have enough power to keep the Wolofs at bay. And you would have enough authority to make your Council follow on the right path."

Illyrio got up pacing slowly, sticking his staff in the sand.

"This is insane!" He stopped abruptly realizing the insult but Khal only smiled amused. It had been long since he felt the thrill of a provocation and he felt like a young boy again about to do something forbidden and he enjoyed it. "Our Council would never accept a tribe leader on the throne, be the Dothraki leader himself and your people would crucify her for being the stranger that took the hope away from all of your nobles into marrying their daughters with you! I have been brought up differently but I know how they hunt you for this! Being the wife of the Khalasar is the most wanted thing in the realm of tribes!"

"That's why I'm going to have a say in it before they bring it upon me."

"But why her?" Illyrio's voice sounded a bit louder, but his worried eyes put Drogo at ease. He turned to look at Jorah keeping his eyes closed, breathing in and out slowly.

"Jorah?" Was the Khalasar asking for his opinion? He opened his eyes looking at the Dothraki standing across from him. He searched in his eyes for signs of deceit, of mockery, but there was nothing.

"I find it hard to decide her fate without her even being here."

Drogo fell back gently in his chair frowning. He did not expect that; he didn't even consider the option of asking her what she wanted him or not. It wasn't his way of doing things. But the words coming out of his mouth surprised even him.

"Then go ask her." Illyrio span on his tired feet to look at Jorah getting up slowly.

"Stay here Mopatis. I'll do this." Illyrio fell back like a spanked child and took his sit, rummaging through the sand. But he knew it had to be Jorah; he was the only one who could bring such news to her. He also knew she had no say in the matter, regardless how Jorah felt about the situation. As he walked out of the tent, Drogo looked at him, and his eyes pierced through his burning temples.

"Sir Mormont… Ask her the right question."

** W**

"My Lord, we should go around!" The general wiped his forehead looking at the tall trees ahead.

"It would take too long." His horse neighed kicking the dirt nervously; he shook his head and foamy sweat fell from under his crest. Alchantar had worked it too hard to get here. He couldn't afford a detour now. Time was not on his side so he had to do his best with the day light he was left. "We go through."

"My Lord, these woods are dangerous!"

But Alchantar knew that. He looked again in the distance at the tall lean white bark trees. Poplar trees. So defenseless yet so traitorous in their innocent look. Behind this thin curtain the thick woodland of Thakur lay ahead of them and not many dared enter its domain. The country of thieves and rebels, outcasts belonging to no kingdom, obeying no one's rules but their own. Alchantar kept still in the saddle; he was no fool. He knew the dangers of crossing through Thakur, but he had no choice. The Targaryens had not forged such a plan just to fight Drogo alone; there was more to it than he could presently acknowledge. A gust of wind passed above the trees and the forest sang to him; it was music to his tired ears. All the screaming the chatter, the loud voices of the past weeks had disturbed him. The horse finally rested for a while, picking on the green grass and Alchantar loosened his grip on the reins. His men too enjoyed the break. They had marched for days to get to Uyack then fought all morning and now rode like mad across the plains to reach Pentos. Not much was said since they had left the Tekaras but regardless, they followed their leader.

"Gather the men. Have them stay in formation, alert and ready. With a little bit of luck we'll cross these woods easily." He turned towards his general smiling insecurely. "We don't really look like prey do we?" But in the back of his mind he wondered whether he was asking himself that question more than he did his general. He never got an answer back; secretly, they both knew the answer.

He looked back. He had about fifty men left, all cavalry. He was in sorrow for leaving his infantry behind. Dead meat as he called them, was hard to find these days and he had just wasted so much of it. Maybe some of his smaller generals had survived and would lead them to Pentos. But with no clear orders, they might've as well just stood their ground and defend their makeshift camp in Uyack. He looked away and into the forest; he couldn't afford losing focus because of that now. He went first and the men followed; it seemed as if they were crossing the boundaries into a dream. Tall lean grass, slowly bending with the unheard wind, small forget-me-not flowers popping their tiny heads out of the green carpet to sip on the warmth of the sun. A spot of blue, here and there, caressing the feet of the white trees. The path curved a little and a few bloody poppies winked at them hiding among the saplings. Another gust of wind and the forest sang again; it soothed the hearing like the touch of satin, like the touch of rain drops in a torrid day. The men were silent; Thakur was a land mermaid. It crept into the hearts of the lonely and lost, into the souls of the tired, appeasing their sorrow, mending their wounds, until they reached its core where it swallowed them whole, spitting their bones on the other side. Very few wretched creatures dwelt here; murderers and scavengers.

The Wolofs rode quietly, exhausted from the day. A few drowsed in the saddle, leaning dangerously to the side. The wind brushed gently against their sweaty cheeks, soothing the burning flesh and here and there you'd hear a sigh of relief. Alchantar alone stood alert ahead of the small unit. He felt the armor rub hard against his shoulders, moist hair strands clinging on the back of his neck and he rolled his head slowly to get rid of the annoying pressure. It allured him as well, this peaceful and quiet place but he knew what lay ahead and he was not willing to give in to the temptation. His horse stepped lightly, lazily and the dirt softened the noise of his heavy hooves. The Wolof kept his eyes ahead, darting in the distance. The sun was playing among the choir of leaves, sparkling like gold powder in the small clearings among the poplar trees. Another gust of wind and the grass called for them with a silent yet appealing ripple, like green waves of a pond. His eyes closed gently, narrowing his vision; his head fell back slightly, but in a moment of awareness he forced them open again and changed posture in the saddle to help him stay awake. It had been a long march to Uyack and a frustrating morning. This forest was a patch on his bitter soul, but he couldn't…

His eyes closed; his fingers loosened on the reins and he felt carried away from all his worries. He felt the sweet caress of the sun on his cheeks, as if tiny children of the woods were playing on his face, tickling him with their little feet. A sudden choked sound and a disturbance in the trees. His eyes cracked open; colors were mingling before his eyes: gold, green, grey, shadows. A short muffled cry and his body startled in the saddle. His eyes opened wide, but still he couldn't fully grasp at the surroundings. He looked up at the sky and somehow the joyful feeling of a piece of heaven was gone. The grey of the clouds was menacing the crown of the singing trees. He looked ahead of him and a whole was slowly opening through the woods, as if the wind had collapsed to the ground spinning uncontrollably taking everything along with it; leaves, flowers, the sun. Thakur had opened its mouth ready to suck them in. He looked back rapidly and saw his men just as baffled as he was, alert and afraid. But nothing happened; another silent moment with just the wind intensifying above and around their heads. A cracking sound, somewhere up in the trees; a black figure swinging down from above, so fast they couldn't anticipate it; it flew among them, swiping one of his men off the horse to carry him with it back up in the green bushes. They took their swords out, pointing them and the nothingness around. A moment later a desperate frightening scream in the distance and their brother fell to the ground, dead. Alchantar drew his sword as well and turned around to look at the vortex stretching before them. They were here and there was no way back.

** W**

She trembled; her hands were cold, her forehead was sweaty and her right eye wasn't helping her much. It felt like she had a lump of meat on it and she gave up trying to open it. She thought she heard movement and opened her good eye to pierce through the thick darkness. She had been in and out of consciousness for the past hours. Maybe it was her imagination. With the corner of her eye she saw this light coming towards her and when it approached her enough she felt the warmth of the fire on her face and she turned towards it like sun flowers following the sun because she was so cold. Jorah's face contoured from behind the small flames, emerging from the darkness like a beautiful dream and her eyes came to life with his vision.

"Child!..." his voice was caught in between despair and mercy. He hurried to place the torch in the sand and help her. He disappeared into the darkness again and she listened to the sound of the torch for a little while. Then he rushed back with water and forced her head up to drink some. She changed the bandage on her swollen eye and she jerked away feeling the chilling water on her face. He took her hands in his and felt her tremble. He brought more blankets and animal skins to cover her until she was hidden almost completely. It took her some time before she warmed enough to be able to speak; but she waited for Jorah to tell her what was going on; she had no recollection of things and she worried.

"Jorah…" He sat at her side, holding her hand and in turn, he was also waiting for in his mind he was looking for the proper words to tell her the inevitable. "Are we lost?" Her almost dying voice didn't help him either; she sounded so broken and so hurt he couldn't bring himself to give her the news.

"Never lost my princess. Always together." And his hold on her hand grew stronger. "Never forget that." In the dim light of the torch her eyes succumbed to anguish further. "The people are safe; for now." Leora continued to look at him and her left eye did the job better than anything she could say. Jorach chuckled. "You are such an incredible person Leora! You speak pages without a word. I hope you use that…" but he stopped abruptly knowing what he was about to say. He took a deep breath. "Drogo has agreed to a truth. His reasons are just and his approach, dignifying. His terms are…good for our people. For your people." He plaid with her hand, massaging slowly her cold white fingers. "His terms… oh, Leora." He let go of her to rub hard on his forehead, shaking his head. "The only way to bring order to our kingdom and among the tribes is to marry him. He wants you to marry him."

"He wants Daenerys to marry him." And unexpectedly her voice had become stronger and harsher. Jorah looked at her and she seemed rather calm for the exceptional news he had brought her. But a moment later she left him to look in the darkness above her head. Tears rolled down her temples, disappearing in her hair and Jorah mourned her pain. "I am nothing but seeds in the wind." _Gods have mercy, I cannot endure her this way…_"I was born here but fate carried me away to blossom in a different land. And now that I have returned to where my roots are, I am yet again taken against my will." Jorah watched her cry and she had the right to. Life had not been easy on her and if a week before she was a young girl living in a small world in the woods of Uyack, now she was the princess of a large kingdom that asked the outmost sacrifice of her just when she had grasped on her new life. He bent to kiss the back of her hand, holding it tight against his face and Leora looked at him compassionately.

"I am so proud of you Leora. You speak like a leader and you have not yet accepted being one. Only someone who truly understands their role in this world, speak the way you have. In your heart, you know what you must do."

"Do I? I wanted to go home and see to my life. Learn of my responsibilities; give a proper burial to my sister whom I lost before I could even truly find. And now this."

"Nothing is without solution Leora. And what it might seem like a living hell today, it might turn into a new chance tomorrow."

"A chance to what Jorah? You know him."

"Do you remember my words?" They locked regard for a moment and she shivered under the blankets, breathing the feverish hot air from inside her lungs. "You surprised me right now with how wisely you have accepted this conclusion. Much of what you will do and say, I know it will surprise him as well."

"I am doing this for my people, for I have started this and I must end it. But I am not here to surprise him nor to please him, nor to be of any importance in his life!" Suddenly she struggled with the weight of the many coverings on top of her trying to free her hands and Jorah helped her. She sat, clanging on his shoulders and he came on his knees to support her. The bandage on her eye fell again and Jorah looked at her purple bruise and loved her more for her courage.

"Leora! Think things through! Your sacrifice is honorable but it does not grant you your life!"

"This is a peace treaty and it shall be treated as such!"

"Marrying Khal Drogo means exactly what it is: being his wife, being with him, at his side!" Jorah took a break unsure whether to voice the rest of the obvious truth. "Having his children."

She shook involuntarily and her grip on Jorah's shoulders grew stronger.

"Never! As soon as everything is resolved and all dangers to us and the tribes have been dealt with, we shall break this treaty apart. It's how it is Jorah, it's how it must be!" her voice sounded broken, shivering as if she could barely breathe. But Jorah shook his head.

"He did not ask for an alliance Leora. He asked you to marry him." She wished she asked what would happen if she had said no, but the answer to that question had come to her the moment he told her about Drogo's plans. She let go and Jorah barely had time to lay her back on the covers. She was shaking violently again and he covered her quickly. She waited for her fever to burn but still her voice was barely heard.

"Why me? Doesn't he have his women? Isn't there someone who wants to marry him? Some king that wants to give his daughter away for protection and fortune?" she quivered. "I am worth nothing to him and once all this will be over, so will I be done." Jorah took a moment to let her finish; somehow he could tell she wasn't finished. "Why would he have his heirs with a stranger?" She paused. "I wouldn't."

"Who would you have them with? A Targaryen? A Tekara? Does it matter?"

"Someone I'd love." They looked at each other again and she seemed to be a bit better; in her eyes she looked defeated.

"Then make that love happen."

"There are things in the world that can't be bought Jorah."

"But they can be won." Jorah smiled bending over to caress her forehead. "Nothing in life is fortuitous my girl and when you have lived long enough, you'll see that."

Leora smiled and for Jorah it was as if morning had already come. He smiled back with his pale lips.

"I told you, you make it sound so simple." But the glow in her eyes came and gone. "I am tired. And I am scared. More scared than I was before the battle. Facing him is harder than being killed."

"Death is always a coward's first choice." She giggled and it mended his heart. He was tired as well but did his best to hold on for her. "I must go back." Silence; he felt her hand squeeze his hard and he endured it. Another tear rolled from her left eye. He gave her a long kiss on the forehead, then got up and left taking the torch with him. In the dark she covered her face, hiding behind her palms. Her tears seared through her bruised skin and only the night witnessed her choked crying.

** W**

"My Lord!" one of his generals yelled desperately but Alchantar was already trying to round up his men into a more coherent formation.

"Bring them together man! Look behind you! Defend your flanks!" But Alchantar's orders made no sense because they didn't know what to expect. One of the soldiers thought he spotted something. He looked carefully, moving out of formation to take a better look and when he saw it coming he yelled from the top of his lungs but it was too late to even avoid it, less retreat. The log flew down from the trees, sustained by ropes, swinging straight into the man's chest, crushing him in the row of trees on the other side of the path. And as it swung back it released the torn body on top of the small army beneath. Horses neighed getting on two legs scared by the falling corpse. The soldiers looked horrified seeing one of them ripped apart, with his gut hanging from his waist, spreading into the dirt, his face carved in terror. They were all experienced soldiers; most of them had seen horrific things before; but only in battle, not when being hunted down one by one by an invisible force. In the back of the line another scream and they saw one more man being dragged into the bushes like cattle lassoed down.

"Move men, move!" Alchantar signaled his two remaining generals to push the men deeper into the woods and follow him. He entered the vortex, holding tight to his sword. It was all an illusion created by the foragers living in these parts of the world. They had burnt down the forest to make it look like the pits of limbo. They were everywhere and he had to keep an eye out for them. Behind him the soldiers moved in rows of two, watching each other's back as they moved along the trail and into the scorched forest. It was as if they were passing from one realm into another, so suddenly and unexpectedly.

From behind the trees, pairs of eyes watched them ride in the middle of a trap. For a little while they walked without anymore incidents, but Alchantar never lost focus. In the back of his mind he knew he had to stay alive, with or without his men at his side and he was thankful for this selfish part of his nature never failing him; it had won his life in so many dear situations. The forest sang again; this time a sinister song and he looked back just in time to see a cascade of logs, sharpen at both ends, tumbling down on his men. It tore through the hand full of men, sending some flying across the woods, smashing into trees to fall breathless to the ground. Others found their death faster, pinned into the killer ends of the massive weapons. Few others struggled to cut the ties holding the logs together and when they did, the trunks rolled on them bringing men and horses alike crushing down against the black dirt. Their defense was broken, the men had been scattered. The eyes behind the trees sent signals across the path. Alchantar saw them emerge like shadows from the bushes, hidden by the injured poplar trees. They were dressed in black, with their faces painted in charcoal dust, their eyes so white against that blackness. With hoods shading their eyes and daggers held menacingly in their hands, the Wolof army now stood face to face with the Sunasi, the inhabitants of the Thakur woodlands.

Alchantar looked beyond them envisioning his wait out of that place. He glanced back; the path was too narrow to group his men in battle formation. With a third of them gone and because of the difficult terrain, their chances of success were slim. The only way was to create chaos and amidst everything to dig a path for him through the bodies and slip far from the fight. But before even finishing his thought, the Sunasi launched their attack; so many flooding from every corner as if they were springing from under the ground or from the thicket above. They rushed into the scattered men likes wolves ambushing the prey and the Wolofs fought them blindly but one by one they fell. Their fighting techniques were unusual; they were like ghost serpents, one moment here and one moment there. They were silent and deadly, climbing up trees to then throw themselves at the enemy from above. The horses left without master got scared and in their madness crushed everything in their path, wounded and dead alike, until they were free from the torture of the sounds and cries around them, fleeing into the heart of the woods. Alchantar fought mightly and soon his sword weighed heavy with the blood dripping from its blade. He kept his horse steady and his posture right in the saddle, sowing death among the Sunasi but they were too many for him to take on alone. He only glimpsed at his men in the back and saw one of his generals being brought down and killed. They did not waste time with slaughter. It had to be swift and definitive so then they could move on to the next men. Time was of the essence for these dark warriors and so was for the Wolof King. But when his eyes fell back upon the Sunasi attacking him he was surprised to see one of them come before his horse out of no where and as if he could guess his intentions, Alchantar threw himself off the horse. The animal fell on top of him, succumbing to the daggers embedded deeply in its throat and the Wolof struggled to free himself. He grabbed the first Sunasi he encountered, pulling him by the ankles; the man dropped to the ground and Alchantar rushed his elbow in his jugular, crushing his airways. A moment later he twisted his head to the side, breaking his neck. He scrambled to take the man's dagger but just as he did he saw a second pair of feet before his eyes. He looked up slowly, in what seemed to be an eternity. The foot came right in his face sending him on his back. His eyes burnt like mad in the eye sockets and the pain in his temples thundered to the back of his head. The poplar trees sang again and their golden leaves snowed down on him bright and beautiful. As his eyes closed, the leaves lay on his cheeks like flakes of grey ashes.

** W**

Drogo watched Jorah entering the tent; he placed the torch aside. Illyrio fretted in his chair looking at Jorah with expecting eyes. In his heart he knew Jorah wouldn't have come back unless he had their fate sealed the way they expected to; which meant giving her away to Drogo. He looked down, guilty for having laid this burden on her as well. _Coward, coward old man!_ He breathed in and for the first time in many years, the Magister felt weak in his decisions. Jorah came before Drogo and bowed. He may have not been at ease with respecting Khal's plan but, the respect towards him as a leader remained undeterred.

"She agrees." Drogo couldn't help a bitter ironic smile.

"Or did you agree for her?"

Jorah looked in his eyes and the Khalasar always appreciated the honesty he saw in this man.

"If I may, my Khalasar. All of us here agree that your plan has chances of success and both Illyrio and I will do our best to assist you in the Targaryen Court. It is clear as day light you have thought things through thoroughly. Yet I dare say, you may have not considered bringing a bride back home." And Jorah kept his eyes with the Khal until the young Dothraki lowered his, which rarely ever happened.

"You remind me of my father, Sir Mormont. He was the only one able to guess my intentions and foresee my worries." Drogo went to pour wine for himself and looked back at the two noblemen silently asking them whether they also wanted a cup, but both denied shaking their heads slightly. He took the cup, stirring the liquid a bit to sense the crude smell. Behind him Jorah looked at his wide shoulders and the blue drawings crawling down his muscular back. They had barely faded after the battle he had been in that day. The dust alone had made its way onto his skin darkening it more. Drogo turned around and Jorah remained still looking at him. "Indeed, I did not plan for this. I never did, before this battle; I didn't plan for it ever. It has not truly been in my interest to you my Khalasar?"

"But is marriage just an interest?"

"We may not come from the same place, but your world is not that different from mine. People seek fortune and fame, regardless of their allegiance, color or tradition." Drogo sipped on his wine slowly and his face betrayed his discomfort talking about the matter. "I am expected to have heirs."

"Doesn't it matter whom you have them with?"

"Not to me."

"I beg to differ." Illyrio pointed at Drogo with his staff. "I have been married, long ago." The Magister paused with a sad look in his eyes. "I remember her still, right now as if it were yesterday. She was sent to me; many were sent to me. Girls from across the land, whose families hungered for my name. I was young, bored and distracted. I didn't need a wife; I had plenty of mistresses, slaves, women who threw themselves at me." Jorah looked away unable to hold back a smile and Drogo leaned against a pylon enjoying the conversation. "Now, now, it may look… incredulous today, when you look at me –" Jorah looked at him mumbling something in his chin and Drogo smiled widely, sipping again from his wine. "- But I had them all. I didn't have to be handsome, I didn't have to speak nice to them, nor treat them like people. I had the money, the name and the power. That's what they really wanted, they didn't want me, so why give them something they didn't want? Until she came along. She hated me you know?"

"She must've done terrible things to you if even now you cannot get her out of your mind."

"Yes, yes, most terrible my Khalasar." Illyrio stopped rummaging through the sand and looked at him. "She taught me how to love. It ruined me."

The three of them fell silent.

"I know what you are trying to tell me Magister, but where I come from love comes out of need not choice and it will be no different for me." He finished his wine, putting the cup back on the little table. "But stay assured; your princess will be safe with me as long as she understands our ways and her place at my side." Jorah looked away; that would be the hardest part to teach Leora. But then again, some things should be left the way they are for her rebellion and quick silver spirit would most likely be her salvation. He glimpsed at Drogo approaching him; _you'll have raw meat in your hands and it will be hard for you to cook it!_ He bowed before the Dothraki. "The wedding will happen tomorrow at sunset. Here, if that does not displease you or… your princess."

Jorah's heart startled. _Tomorrow?_

"If there is anything we can do to assist you with the preparations, my Khalasar…"

"I will send someone to you in the morning." He left but as he was preparing to get out of the tent, he stopped, looking over his shoulder. "If there are any customs she wants to keep to…" Jorah bowed again.

"Thank you, my Khalasar." And Drogo walked away into the night.

Illyrio dragged slowly across the sand coming before Jorah who remained bowed, with the burden of the world on his shoulders.

"What happens when he finds out she is not Daenerys and that he has married a half-breed?"

Jorah closed his eyes tight and the desire to cry burnt him.

"Let's hope that will remain a secret until more time passes."

"What do you expect old man?" Illyrio sounded nervous. He didn't like this anymore than Mormont did. "That they fall in love and he forgives her afterwards?"

"You said it yourself Mopatis! Love can be learnt even by the most inapt of us!" he frowned looking straight at his old friend. Illyrio pouted hitting with his staff in the sand. He wished he replied back but Mormont was right; and he missed his wife so much.

"Drogo is different. His world is cruel."

Jorah went back to his seat and brought his hands in prayer. Lorday barged inside anxious to find out the details of their small reunion with the Khalasar, but neither Sir Mormont nor the Magister hurried to enlighten him.

** W**

His head felt the size of a bucket. His eyes were swollen and it felt as if the skin on his cheeks was coming down on his eyes. He could hardly focus; the earth was swaying underneath him. The night had fallen. Alchantar inched angered with the realization and struggled impotently. He looked around and then he scrambled to look down at his feet. He was dangling hanged from a rope in the middle of the Thakur forest. His general and a couple of his men had joined him in this upside down prison. He wondered how the thin poplar trees could sustain all this weight but through the dark he realized they were hanging from beams nailed in the trees, like sheep waiting to be disemboweled. He wished he stopped swinging but he had his hands tight to the back and couldn't control the movement. He tried to take a closer look at his few remaining men. His general was awake and two others appeared to be alert. For the others he couldn't tell for sure, but when he met the eyes of his general the man shook his head, so he lost hope of them being alive. Further away the Sunasi had built the fires for the night.

Alchantar decided they were at a safe distance from the enemy to be able to communicate. He looked at his general trying to get his attention.

"Is this all that's left?" The general looked back at the soldiers lined up head down behind him then nodded. Alchantar was not pleased. Because of the dark he couldn't tell for sure how far up he was. But he had to try his luck. He stretched forth as much as he could, knowing that he had stashed a pocket knife at the back of his pants. He was grateful the Sunasi had stolen his cape and breast plate allowing him to be more flexible. He tangled his fingers around the belt remaining in a weird position where every muscle in his belly stretched to a maximum and he resented it. In his mid forties he sometimes felt like an old man. He walked his hand, inch by inch, not letting go of the belt, until he reached the inner pocket and took the blade out then he let go bouncing above the ground. He waited for the movement to stop then slowly used the knife to cut through the bindings until he freed his hands. He then lifted his body slowly up and his ankles hurt and burnt with the rope twisting tighter around his legs, but he kept going, bending his body, progressively, griping with his hands on the knees, then went higher and higher until he reached his ankles. He heard movement behind him and stopped abruptly to take a look back. There was nothing so he started cutting the rope, faster and faster, but the ties were thick. He tried to focus through the dark and see what he was doing but he could barely tell how deep he was with his knife in the rope. Then all of a sudden a deaf sound and he felt as if the rope loosened a bit. The next moment he plunged to the ground at full speed and he took a nasty fall reverberating through his lower back and neck.

The world span for a moment and he tried to regain clarity of mind fearing someone might have heard him fall. He got up slowly and saw his general struggling to attract his attention. He looked around with his knife ready, but there was no one there.

"My Lord! Quickly! Cut us loose!" Alchantar hurried behind the man and started cutting his ties. The general was impatient and kept kicking making the rope turn.

"Stand still man!" Alchantar couldn't see a thing. The dim light from the fires was now taken away by the general's body. The general rested, his eyes rolling left to right, keeping an eye out for any intruders. The Sunasi seemed caught in their small celebration. But with the corner of his eye he perceived the slight movement in the trees before him. He looked carefully wishing for his king to move faster and free him. And as he stood there with his heart beating frantically he saw them; a pair of eyes, with the white glowing eerily in the dark and he scrambled to warn Alchantar.

"My Lord!" Alchantar looked past the general and saw the shadow sneaking on them. He grabbed the general from the back holding tight on his shirt and kept the knife in his right hand, looking carefully around. The voices of the nearby Sunasi covered any sound of footsteps. A short cry and he saw the stranger attack from upfront and he flinched to the side, pulling the general with him. The rope rotated and so did Alchantar using his man as a shield. Another swish in his ear and the Sunasi snapped at him with his sword but missed again. It was his turn and Alchantar pushed the general in his face going underneath the hanging man to stab the Sunasi in the gut. The man retracted holding tight to his bleeding wound but instead of calling for the others he tried to take vengeance on his own, going for Alchantar's throat. But the Wolof king was fast; he bowed before the blade reached him and so the Sunasi's blade cut across the general's throat, almost decapitating him. The assault caused him so much pain that he took a moment to breath in and accept the weakness gripping on his joints. Alchantar watched him from beneath the general's body; he felt something dripping down his forehead and he looked up. The blood spilling from his general's throat rained down on him and in moments he found himself drowning in it and he pulled back disgusted. He wiped it off his eyes with his sleeve, clearing his vision right when the Sunasi tried one last attack. But Alchantar did not hesitate and embedded his small blade right under his chin. _What a bloody job…_ Now the enemy blood was dripping down his hand and he didn't remember a time when he had been covered in so much blood. He pulled back leaving the knife in his victim. He took the Sunasi's sword and crawled silently towards where the horses were tied. The animals were restless with his approach, but he talked to them in a mild voice, taking one by the reins. He walked alongside the horse for a little while, enough to sink in the deeper in the woods. He looked back and saw the eyes of his soldiers following him, like gallows birds seeing the judge give the order for a kill. He turned his eyes away; his heart was black as the tar night swallowing him.

** W**

"If he wants to be King in Pentos, he should have allowed the wedding to be held there, for his future people to see him!" Lorday commented unsatisfied with the entire outcome of their discussions the night before. The news of the wedding had poured into the streets of Pentos creating chaos, but Drogo did not care. He had rounded up the Council informing them personally of his terms and as expected, there was no one there to refuse him. He put Jorah and Illyrio in charge until his return. First he had to take his future bride to his home and introduce her to her new family, and then he would be back to arrange matters in Pentos. His decisions sparked numerous animosities to say the list, but no one had the opportunity or the weapons to fight him. Jorah knew he had to keep a tight grip on the nobility once Leora and Drogo left, so that they didn't plan the unthinkable and plan against their new king.

Illyrio wanted to admonish the young noble, but refrained from wasting more energy on him. They had fought enough the night before. He looked around at the hand full of Targaryen nobles in their shiniest and richest clothes, chattering like old women at every step. On the other side, Drogo's generals and soldiers were as different of a picture as one could see. Half naked, with talismans around their necks, golden daggers hidden in the animal skins around their waists. Tanned, tall and muscular, like bows ready to be released. Illyrio was uneasy.

"Where is Leora?" he asked Jorah sitting next to him, but his eyes continued to prowl the surroundings.

"She is getting ready." Jorah didn't sound much calmer either. The dry air of the desert caused him to cough continuously and he sipped on water to keep his illness at bay.

"Children of my children will not witness this again."

"Neither have your forefathers." Jorah swallowed in again feeling the tingling of the dust down his throat.

"You know my friend, when I sent you to get Leora that fateful morning, I never dreamt it would come to this." Illyrio sighed. Too much had happened in such a short time.

"Neither did I, Magister. Neither did she." They shared a quick regard, but they were interrupted by the murmur in the crowd. The Dothraki bowed and Jorah saw Drogo coming.

"You better take your place. It's about to begin." Illyrio pushed his heavy cape aside and rushed among the people. Jorah bowed and the Targaryens, baffled and unaware, followed him hesitantly. Drogo stepped slowly, with his eyes set on the small shrine they had arranged for the ceremony. Illyrio had just appeared behind it, arranging his clothes and gold chain. He had taken his golden staff, baring the royal insignia, the symbol of his authority as Magister of the Court. The tarp above the shrine moved slightly with the wind and Drogo sighed. He had spent the night doubting his decision. He had never taken marriage seriously, knowing he could never have a woman to really love him for the man he was. A downfall to his statute as the Dothraki leader. But he had at least hoped to know more of her before he took her in. He wasn't sure how had such a thought crept into his mind, but he couldn't get rid of it. Her eyes were still burning him, so angry and daring. He wasn't used to that. He sighed as he passed Jorah, almost unobservant. A few more steps and he will reach the point of no return.

She looked at them with tears in her eyes. From behind the tarp she saw them gather waiting for her and she wished she could flee. And then she saw Jorah, her dear Jorah. They have known each other for so little, yet she appreciated his advice and patience with her. He was her spark of light in the dark times ahead. Behind her, one of the servant girls brought from Pentos arranged her veil. She did not care about her looks. With all the medicine and care she had gotten through out the night and all day till now, her bruises were still immaculate, her eyes was no longer swollen but kept its sickening color. Suddenly, the crowd outside went quiet and the Dothraki started bowing one by one. She peaked more and saw him walking with her back at her. She pulled back inside the tent, leaving just her eye into the light to watch him. It was the first time she could actually take a better look at him; her husband to be. He was so tall! She wished she knew what the blue drawings on his shoulders meant. His hair was longer than hers, braided carefully in a long tail, bearing small colorful bells in it and her eyes followed the soft sway of the brown hair across his back; she saw the muscles in his waist tense with each step he took and her lips parted unwillingly. He had not put much effort into wearing anything special on this day. His belt was an intricate carving of drawings, encircling his waist, supporting the golden dagger unfolding from the animal skins hanging down his hips. He had chosen lighter colors this time that contrasted with his tanned skin and her eyes ran down his powerful legs observing the flexing in his muscles and the way he stepped hard sinking his feet in the sand. He stopped before Illyrio, under the small altar her people had put together for them.

"It is time my Lady." The voice behind her startled her frail heart. She clenched tighter on the tarp. _I'm not ready, not yet!_ "My Lady?..." A few heads in the crowd turned towards the tent. She could hear her breathing so loud it covered everything else.

Illyrio looked worried over Drogo's shoulder and Jorah became impatient with Leora's delay. He didn't see any movement in her tent; he sneaked away slowly going behind the crowd to see what was going on.

Leora saw Jorah approaching and she backed off from the entrance. He entered and they stared at each other for a moment; she looked like an animal about to run for its life. He stretched his hand to her.

"Let me walk you to the altar." Tears surged in her eyes and she shook her head. And by the Gods, she was beautiful! "Please child." She placed her hand slowly in his and allowed him to tuck it safely under his arm.

The sun was about to set but she found the light merciless to her tender eyes. In her mind, she looked like a slave girl. Bruised, with a purple eye and chapped lips, broken fingernails, pale and skinny. She looked down as they took one step at a time approaching the altar.

Drogo looked at her and it took him aback with how small she was. Without the armor, the helmet and the shield she was thin like a flower, stepping lightly on the sand that barely bore the mark of her soles. She kept her eyes in the ground and wondered if Jorah had told her about his traditions. He doubted he did. She wore a plain white dress, embroidered here and there with thin golden threads, like sun rays twisting and spinning on the sleeves. The material was cut deep on her chest revealing her soft skin and beneath it he could guess the shape of her round small breasts contoured shyly by the intricate drawings. The wind blew gently and forced her long veil to fall in waves down her back and all the way on the sand following the golden train. She wore the crown of the Westeros; pure gold shaped into a thin yet majestic piece of jewelry enriched with sapphires and rubies. She passed slowly through the crowd and the sun caught up with her, sneaking among the tents and the people; the crown jewel, her Queen Emerald shone brightly as she lifted her head slowly to welcome the breeze that brought this warmth. Drogo kept his ground but that short glimpse of her face made him want to see more; but he waited.

Jorah patted her hand gently and let go of her before Drogo. The two men shared one last look before Leora came before him and Illyrio cleared his voice, ready to start the ceremony. Khal Drogo looked at her so inquisitively, she felt it was penetrating though her skul, but she kept her eyes down. She was not going to give him anything more than what he had bargained for. A muscle flexed in his jaw as he wanted her to disobey his own rules, but she didn't. Illyrio started talking, but neither of them heard what he was saying. Leora kept her head so low it almost hurt her neck and she knew he must've observed the exaggeration in her gesture, but she did not care. She counted her breathing, trying to remain calm. _What if I make him mad?_ Thoughts roamed through her head and she tried to chase them away. _You don't want to bring his wrath on your people!_ She almost shook her head, convincing herself that she wasn't. Drogo looked at her carefully, from so close and she was the strangest girl he'd encountered. She was shaking her head looking as if she spoke with someone and his mind he went back to what Alchantar had told him, about her dementia. He took a deep breath. What was the truth about this girl?

"… with the consent of the Great Powers and the approbation of your people, I, humble servant of this throne and servant to its rule, unite these hands to walk the same path, now and forever."

Both Drogo and Leora looked completely taken by surprise when Illyrio joined their hands. She almost jolted back while he just locked her hand in his by instinct. _Mine!_ The thought surprised him the most and his lips parted with a gasp; and the air never returned in his chest when he met her eyes. They stared and time stopped, if there was a sound around them they couldn't hear it. _What a tiny little face… _her bruised eye did not take away any of the beauty that shone through those chestnut irises fixing him so powerfully right now. Her lips were almost white with how tired she must've probably been and chapped from the day before; it made him want to touch and moist them. He clenched his jaw and unfocused his eyes from her. The spell was broken. _What is this?_ He was confused by the novelty of his feelings and it annoyed him to have shown it to her. He looked at Illyrio who bowed his head slowly, inviting him silently to end the ceremony. Drogo turned back to her, still holding her hand and bent down slowly for her alone to hear him.

"Where I come from, women do not look me in the eye."

His voice sent chills down her spine. So hoarse, so low and appealing. It was the most haunting voice she'd ever heard and she thought he could tell from her breathing how captivated she was with it. But finally, his words had an impact on her.

"Why not?" and he did not expect that from her. She whispered and her warm breath came onto his face caressing it, pushing that veil of stubbornness off his face. _Why not? Why not?_ And the more he repeated the question in his head the more it angered him with her boldness. _For you get punished for it!_ Those were his last unspoken words to her before he did what any man would; kiss his woman.

It hurt her wrist with how hard she pulled but his hand was an unbreakable lock and she remained pinned where she stood with his mouth on hers, so suddenly, so unexpected that she continued to stare at him, an inch away, with the tip of her nose buried in his cheek and his beard felt heavenly against her soft skin. She didn't kiss him back; she couldn't because she never expected his lips to feel so tender and moist. Her eyelids burdened and gave in, her sight darkened and she was about to close her eyes and run back to her own world where she did not enjoy his kiss so much. But as she was about to close away from him, he opened his eyes and looked at her, so deeply it uprooted her from the surrounding reality. His mouth pressed harder on hers, sucking on her lips gently and she wondered again how such a big man could be so soft. But when he let go of her, his face went back to the arrogance and superiority he had displayed before and she blushed, ashamed with having been caught with her guard down. He never let go of her hand all throughout the applauses of the crowd, the false cheering and the dishonest wishes for the best. She gave up trying to keep her distance. It seemed to give him pleasure to fight her.

Soon the fires were lit and they roared up towards the sky. The night was young, the food was plenty, the drinks kept pouring. But she did not eat, she did not drink, she did not dance. She remained at his side, silent and observant of his people. Jorah was barely there; he spent his time together with Illyrio making sure none of the Targryens present would have too much to drink and reveal her secret. She watched the fires burn, she heard the laughs of the men. As the moon rose higher on the sky, her heart went colder. The time would come when she had to follow him in his tent. Her eyes closed against the full moon.

** W**

Alchantar saw them burning from afar. He knew the horse would betray his presence and he did not want the Dothraki to be misled in the dark. His death would have come swiftly and mercilessly. So he let the animal go and decided to walk to the camp of his ally. The torches on the walls of Pentos gave a bit of light across the sands and he saw them first like shadows; flags and weapons spread across the sand. But no bodies. He stopped for a moment. There had been a battle, but when did they have the time to gather the bodies? Where did Drogo bury his men? He took another look in the distance and watched the fires burn into the night. _Hmmm…_ He continued walking disappearing into the night until he reached their tents. He sneaked in quietly and carefully. A few of his men were drinking in a corner absorbed in discussions. He moved further down, going around another tent until he reached the middle of the camp. But when he glanced beyond the tarp, he remained silent and confused. He recognized the Targaryen wear, the flags of the Westeros throne. _What is going on? Has it ended so fast?_ In his mind he grinned. He didn't mind not being part of the men slaughter, as long as he got his share of the catch. But celebrating? It wasn't in Drogo's nature to be so kind. He switched corners and looked again. A colorful carpet was laid on a wooden structure, above the sand. Drogo sat in his chair, eating his fruit, like he knew he would. But there was something more; _you!_ Leora sat down at the foot of the chair, looking down; looking sad. He took a step out of his hideout. _Is she… yes she is!_ He fell back that one step he had taken and hid again into the semi obscurity of the tent. _It can't be! How can it be?_ She was dressed as a bride, he recognized that, he'd been to Targaryen weddings before, either as a guest or a passer by, and he was not mistaken. All of a sudden the world seemed a much darker and overwhelming place. Alchantar closed his eyes, in defeat letting the air come out slowly and long. He breathed in, trying to find a way around this unexpected and unfortunate happening that had taken place in his absence. The Targaryens' plan had worked. But is this what they had really planned, or did it come from Drogo. _No!..._ Drogo couldn't commit such nonsense. But then he looked again and in his cunning mind a new gate opened, one that Jorah had feared all along. He wondered…

The soldiers saw a man appear from behind the tent and they got up abruptly taking their weapons.

"Honorable Dothraki, it is I, Alchantar Wolof, your ally and humble visitor to your camp, if you have me." He bowed before Drogo's men taken aback by the surprising apparition. They didn't know why Alchantar hadn't been there for the battle and they did not understand why he was there now. "If I may trouble you with a small favor. If you could indulge me and call upon your Khalasar to see me in private. It is in his immediate benefit that he sees me." But even though he kept his head down he knew no such thing was ever asked from the Khal. He never came upon the call of anyone, but he had to push things into motion if he wanted to satisfy his curiosity. The Dothraki looked at each other even more confused with his daunting attitude. But they agreed and one of them left to inform Khal. Alchantar withdrew in the tent behind, waiting anxiously.

Soon the tarp pulled away and Drogo entered the tent, if not amazed at least annoyed with the Wolof bothering him unannounced.

"Alchantar Wolof, you have a gift to show in the most inappropriate moments."

Alchantar bowed, taking his time in showing the Khalasar how sorry he was for bothering him.

"I rode hard and long my Khalasar to reach you before… before any of this happened, but it looks like I might have arrived too late."

"What are you talking about? And stand up. Your bowing is meaningless to me." Drogo paced around the tent once, undecided whether to pour some wine or just listen to the Wolof king and then go back to his bride. He had much to learn about her and he did not want to spend that time with Alchantar.

"I see there was a battle."

"There was."

"So I had mine."

"I hope it was successful, like mine." Drogo grew impatient; he really didn't want to be there. Through an opening in the tarp he saw the moon cutting through the dark. It was almost time. In the back of his mind he grinned, but curiosity was eating him inside.

"Unfortunately, through my efforts I have discovered we have been deceived."

"Deceived? Explain yourself Wolof." _Faster!_

"The Targaryens sent a decoy to Uyack, for me to follow thinking it was Leora."

"The half-breed princess of Westeros; the one you wanted."

"Yes my Khalasar."

"And how do you know you've been tricked? Have you captured the decoy?"

"Yes. And it wasn't whom I expected."

Drogo sighed, bored with the conversation. He had made it clear to Alchantar that he was not interested in his fight with the Tekaras or the bastard child. But, he was in a good mood, so he allowed the discussion to continue, out of complacency.

"So where is this Leora now? Do you know?" and Alchantar smiled in the dark. He had brought Drogo right where he wanted. He took a few slow purposeful steps towards the opening in the tarp looking over the fires in the middle of the camp.

"Right there."

Drogo remained motionless; his eyes alone switched from Alchantar's face to the opening in the tarp, and back to the Wolof, not wanting to understand what he was saying. He came closer, but he kept his eyes on his assumed ally. Alchantar's eyes were fixed on his wife. His hand flew right in the man's throat bringing him up above the sand.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now?"

But Alchantar choked under the clutch of Drogo's large hand. The Khalasar's arm didn't even shiver. Alchantar struggled.

"I… I'm telling… I'm telling you…." He choked again but Drogo didn't let go. "… the truth…" Drogo looked at Leora staring absently into the fire burning before her. He slowly let go of the Fire King. Alchantar took a few steps back, supporting himself against the table, coughing to regain his breath. His joints were weakened and he sat in a chair, making efforts to come to his senses fast and satisfy Drogo's curiosity and appease his warrior spirit. "See… I know them both. Daenerys and Leora. They are nothing alike. Daenerys is shorter, blonde long hair, almost silvery and deep blue eyes. She had hardly ever walked outside Pentos, and barely left the palace after her brother died. She was lost without him and the nobility liked her that way. She was easier to manipulate." He breathed again; he felt tired for no reason. "Then Illyrio found out about Leora, that she wasn't dead and sent Jorah to get her back and gain the throne of her father."

Drogo kept silent. He was watching the woman with long chestnut hair, fare features and daring eyes that he had just married that evening.

"Daenerys?"

"I don't know my Khalasar. But she… she is said to have not recovered from the tragedy of Viserys' death."

It didn't matter anymore. If Leora had led the Targaryen army in battle then she must have taken the throne. Still… his fists clenched painfully. He had been tricked; how could Jorah do this to him? He very well knew how unprecedented their marriage was. How hard it would be for both sides to accept it and now he had to go home with a half-breed who had probably killed her sister or locked her away to take the throne! _Shame…_ He should've known, no woman raised at the court would have ever defied him like that. He turned around abruptly slamming his fist into the water vessel on the table. It wasn't enough; he hit the shields supported against the pylon sending weapons and armors on the other side of the tent rolling outside through the entry. He paced round and round, completely neglecting Alchantar's presence. The Wolof King didn't dare venture any further than where he had gone until now, so he waited to see the results of his mischief.

Drogo stopped again before the opening in the tarp and took another look at her. A servant girl had approached her and was whispering in her ear. She got up and left followed closely behind by the girl. She passed Jorah and they exchanged one last look. _Will she try to kill him?_ He chuckled at the thought, but it sounded more like a muffled angry groan. He turned to leave but stopped before exiting the tent.

"I don't want you anywhere near the Targaryens. Stay here."

"But My Khalasar!..." but Drogo had already left. Behind him his men stood guard at the entry of the tent. Alchantar was now prisoner of his own ally. He fell back into his chair, angered and betrayed. He had given up his catch to do a greater evil, and in his quest to win he had forgotten what the price would be and now he was lost in his own desires and lies. Maybe there was still hope the Dothraki council would reject her and he could have her back for himself. If Drogo did not kill her meanhwile… He touched the top of his head and felt the clotted blood sticking in his hair. He laid back in the chair unable to sleep, but finding it hard to stay alert too. The moon was high in the sky and his eyes remained hypnotized with it. Before long, it disappeared behind his closed eyelids.

Leora entered the tent and looked back for the girl that had accompanied her, but with a quick bow she left, almost fleeing. She could not understand this fear of him. What was the use of it? She looked around and everything in that tent spoke of him. A few veils hanging from the ceiling, hiding large candles burning in the sand or on the tables. Hidden among them all, lay his bed, covered in animal skins, big and welcoming. Warm; yet wild. Something in her heart quickened and she took a small step back. That's when she felt him; her back against his chest and she felt small, so small. She turned around quickly backing off into his bed.

Drogo sat there, motionless, observing her. The dark powder on his eyelashes turned the green in his eyes into treacherous bottomless caves and she nearly got lost in them. Her heart pounded like never before. Thoughts mingled in her head about the one attempt she had had a few years back to be with a man and she had failed miserably. Maybe it had been her, or maybe she just felt used. Her eyes fell on him again and without her even feeling it, he had come closer. She had never prized her virginity too much, because few men did. It was just another win on their abacus. She stared back at him and realized that for the first time since she'd met him she felt scared. Drogo took a step closer and in the candle light his eyes sparkled, menacingly and Leora gasped for air. She didn't know whether she'd spend her first night with her husband, or the enemy.

**Author's note**

**Sandradee27** – Girl, thanks so much for the review on chapter 12. I was in such a hurry to post it after vacation that I forgot to put in my little thanks. Glad you like the whole thing. As you can see, more Drogo is unfolding right now and there will be plenty more coming. I've brought the big boy into the game.

**Straight Edge Queen** – MUAH to you as well for the review on chapter 12. I will make sure Daenerys gets what she deserves. But all in due time.

**Kiera666** – Happy you like the story so far! Keep me posted on what you think from now one!

My **two Guests **– thanks so much for your appraisals guys. To be frank, I don't really like describing war/fighting scenes. I really am impatient when it comes to descriptions as a whole. Hahah funny eh, considering I do describe a lot. I am more into dialogues, but I cannot do just dialogues, so… but I'm happy to see that you liked my war scenes. That came as a surprise to me. Thanks for reviewing and hopefully I'll hear from you soon.


	15. Chap 14  Withholders of destiny

**Withholders of destiny**

Jorah pierced through the darkness; the torches were dying outside and in the dim light his eyes hurt staring at the tar surrounding him. His heart seemed to be the only friend he had; it beat slowly and he counted each strike knowing that this clock would stop one day. He continued counting keeping his mind busy from thinking of what was going on a few steps away from his tent. Drogo was with her and she was with him. His thoughts collapsed again in a sea of confusion. He could not see the outcome of their privacy. In his quest for her, in his struggle to fulfill his duty for Pentos he had forgotten to ask Leora the woman about her feelings and fears. He turned around, trying to chase the annoying feeling away. Had she ever been with a man before? How could he forget to care for her that way! A father wouldn't have deserted his daughter that way, but he had never been a father and in this first attempt, he had now failed. He closed his eyes shut and in the silence of the night he prayed to the Gods whom he had always served but never asked for any favors. It was time he did.

** W**

Drogo passed her by, slowly, purposefully. She remained silent and still, her eyes alone measured his steps as he went around her and to her it felt as if an eternity had gone by before he faced her again. She didn't look at him; she was afraid what her eyes would tell him. She couldn't control the swirl of thoughts burning in her head. But other than her mind hurting with angst, her heart was numb. Her body was oblivious and ignorant to what this night could mean. She had never really given a thought to love making, to men in particular. _I have tomorrow for this…_ She used to think. But that tomorrow stumbled upon her sooner than she had anticipated and now she was faced with the inevitable. Her eyes lowered to the ground but her vision was blurry. No one had prepared her for this; no one had even advised her how it would be like. Last time she had tried, she got scared. Women her age had children; she had… nothing. Khal shadowed her vision further, but caught in her own thoughts she allowed her eyes to lay upon him and all the sadness of her almost twenty three years of life poured in the crystal brown. Drogo looked at her and cursed the moment the Shadows and Mighty Powers had sent her his way and now he could not get passed those watery eyes of hers. _Who are you, woman? Damn you!_ He looked down at his hands, bringing them up enough to open his wide palms and stare at them in the dim light of the candles. In one hand he had the truth about her; her lies and her deceit and his fist clenched holding tight to that memory of her deception; while in the other… he took her hand quickly, gently but unexpectedly even to himself, observing it; tiny and shivering in his. His eyes met hers again and in the solitude of his tent they saw each other in a whole new light. He felt her small hand, her fingers moving slightly in his palm and it gave him this pure feeling of the innocence and fragility of a woman who, just the day before, had fought him with all her might. Not only did he not know who she really was but he resented finding out. One touch and he was staring in her eyes, against his own rules, against his own beliefs. He squeezed her fingers harder and saw his gesture ripple in her eyes. _Damn you!_ His jaw clenched his muscles flickered, angry with himself, angry with her. He hadn't planned for this, yet he could end it so easily. One word from him and she would be dead, Pentos would be his, Alchantar would bow to him before sunset. He focused on her again. She had not moved an inch since he had come to her; she had not spoken a word. Yet she did not reject him, she almost cried but in the end she held those tears to herself. _What kind of warrior are you? Or woman?_ His mind derailed with the sight of her moist lips. He didn't think about doing it, but he felt he had to.

And Leora didn't see it coming; she was too impressed and absorbed by their closeness; her hand in his and it frightened and warmed her at the same time. He had taken over the entire space before her, filling her eyes with his presence and she saw nothing else but him. And now his mouth on hers so dreamy, foggy, cozy, alluring, standing on the edge of a cliff and she was about to fall in the billow beneath. His fingers circled her small hand, almost hiding it entirely into his. She breathed in gently, closing her eyes and amazingly, no tears came down her face as if his kiss had dried them all. She could not explain how just the touch of their lips could engulf her so completely; he was standing so far away she couldn't feel the warmth of his body and he didn't even use his other arm to pull her closer. _What…_ But her mind failed to utter coherent words. She pulled away. She had to understand; she needed to clear her head from the spell he was casting on her. She could not give herself away to a man just because circumstances had forced them together; all of a sudden making love became important; making him understand became important.

He felt her retreat, her hand trying to pull away and out of his hold. His eyes opened; the moment was torn and he found himself thrown back to the grim reality of not knowing who he was kissing; a stranger. A stranger he had married; in deceit. His eyes fired with anger again, his lips narrowed and against the moment of weakness he went back to being the Khal Drogo that had consecrated his name among the enemies. And he had only done that by respecting the rules; and rules had to be applied to her. He could not break the marriage; not now at least, it was too early. But he could teach her what it meant to be his wife.

She perceived the change in him; his eyes had turned from calm and weary into a piercing menace and she stood her ground knowing there wasn't much she could do. Her heart skipped a beat when he took a step back and her hand fell heavily once he released it and awkwardly she looked at it as if it did not belong with her but in his hand. She hid it quickly behind her back to mask the betrayal of her own mind. She looked at him again and her knees twitched with a sudden impulse to fall back a step; he had taken off his animal skins and now only a thin cover stood between her and his nakedness. She forced her eyes away from the sight looking astray, but she still heard the sound of the material falling to the ground and her face turned into stone, feeling him approach her. _I could just run!_ She closed her eyes tightly spitting at her own stupidity. _You are such a fool! _He was next to her, so close he could feel the contours of his body mold against her and she wondered how she was still standing with his body weight pushing against her, but his arm was already around her waist, and she struggled slightly against it, falling deeper in his trap. She looked at him asking for patience, for time. But his eyes were like broken mirrors reflecting nothing, but the coldness of the night.

"No woman is to look upon the Khalasar."

Her lips trembled; she wanted to speak and tell him she was no mere woman, that she was his wife. But he denied her that answer when he scooped her up suddenly, almost throwing her on the covers. She screamed shortly, and quickly covered her mouth, not wanting to let anyone know of her misery. Her crown rolled off releasing the veil and the fragile material got caught under her weight as she pushed herself up and away from him. She should have been with that man back in Uyack, like this she wouldn't have to offer her virginity to him! He didn't know how to appreciate it! In her mind, she was baffled by her new conviction, but if it empowered her against him she would dwell on it; on anything that could help her ignore him and his rules.

He came on top of her and strangely, the bed became much smaller and she hurried to drag across the animal skins trying to escape him, but it was in vain. He dropped on her, gently enough not to hurt her but heavy enough to pin her underneath him and she gave in her struggle, suddenly cautious and aware of how insignificant she was next to him. Nevertheless, she did not consider her body welcoming all that force and she found herself obedient, locked away underneath him; his long braided hair slid down his shoulder and next to her head and she stared at it for a moment, turning her eyes from him. She had gone numb, immobilized by him and trapped in her clothes, now stuck and folded in between their bodies; only her chest still had the strength to move slightly and bring air into her lungs. His body shifted, like that of a predator and she felt his hand glide under her dress, forcing it up, but the material resisted him. Leora closed her eyes thankful for this small defense against him, but it was short lived. He got on his knees and without a word he scooped both her legs up from behind her knees and cleared them of the long train. Drogo stared at her flesh, tender and provoking under his eyes. He was tempted to slide his palm on the length of those legs of hers but her eyes reminded him of her treachery. She looked scared, yet she still provoked him by staring at him. He froze, reading the warning in her eyes and he couldn't believe she was threatening him. Her body tensed, arching a bit off the bed and he felt her muscles coil in his palm. An ironic smile surged in the corner of his lips; it annoyed him that he found her rebellion amusing. He should have been angry; he should teach her a lesson.

Next moment she tried to make her escape. Her foot came in his chest pushing him away and she turned on her belly to get a better grip on the covers and fetch herself out of his bed. She thought she had hit him hard enough but she had underestimated him greatly. Her route to freedom was cut short the moment she reached the edge of the bed. He grabbed her from the calves dragging her back. She glanced over her shoulder and was scared by the determination in his eyes. She had made the wrong choice. _No!_ She kicked back trying to free her legs but his grip was so strong it hurt her skin and she groaned under the pressure. All of the anger, frustration and fright she had gathered for the past weeks pooled together in her chest, coagulating in a thick globe of madness, pulsating inside her and she lost her reason, fighting him blindly. She grabbed a candle from the sand and twisted rapidly throwing the hot wax at him and he flinched back with the burn. He let go of her for a moment concerned with the small white drops drying quickly on his chest. He pealed them away, one by one, plucking a few hairs and a nerve somewhere in his shoulder blade reacted at the sting. He molded the wax between his fingers, rolling it slowly into a small ball. Leora looked at him from across the bed, glimpsing at the tarp fluttering in the night breeze. In the back of her head, she knew that this battle had to be fought inside, that everything would be ruined if she took it outside this tent. Her dry lips parted and she wondered why he gave her the time to put this distance between them. From the scars on his arms she knew he had been inflicted more serious wounds than the mild burnt of candle wax. He got up slowly and against the honey light barely making it out of the deep candles she saw his raw beauty, the perfection of the Mighty Powers' work of art. The carved statues in Pentos did not match such grander and she shivered with anticipation; her body was betraying her will again and she made efforts to keep her emotions at bay and not fall victim to his display of manliness. He walked slowly around the bed coming before the entrance of the tent and she stood mesmerized at the two halves of him now drawing clearly from the shadows. _So this is who you are_… A man of two faces; a barbarian warrior with a candid heart; _perhaps…_ The moonlight shone silvery and cold on his skin turning half of him into an implacable man who kept an icy look on her but from inside the tent the golden glow of the torches transformed his other half in flowing rivers of nectar, alluring and warm and she prayed for those shallow waters to reach his heart. He took a step closer and she took a step back.

"You cannot treat me like one of your slaves. I am not your slave. I am your wife."

His eyes sparkled in the dark and his head tilted to the side a bit. _Snake!_ He did not utter a word; he just came for her and she ran into the tarp behind her falling against it, and the softness of the material didn't support her. She dropped to the ground, scrambling with her feet in the sand to gain balance but he was already there to lift her up. Moments later she found herself face down, choking in the same animal skins she had just deserted. He was standing on top of her, blocking any movement and there was not enough strength in her arms to sustain him and free herself. She heard it tear and her breathing seized, plagued by fear. Her heart sank deeper and the plunge hurt inside her chest. She gave in; if this is what it had all come to, then she'd rather let it happen then suffer any longer.

Drogo kept looking at her bare back, with his fists still clutched in the dress he had just torn all the way to her neck. She had arched desperately underneath him, pinning her hands in the bed covers, next to her forehead and now her behind stood up a bit and his jaw muscle flexed imperceptibly with the sensual sight. He placed his hands on her, cupping her cheeks and she startled with the touch forcing him to lower more on her knees and keep her anchored beneath him. He cursed at his own strategy, if that was even a strategy and not a man lusting for this woman. He had never taken the time to observe a woman, less care about where to place his hands on her, nor was he ever tricked into caring about her fears or anguish. That was not his duty in bed; not the Khalasar. He leaned back and for a short fraction of a second he glimpsed at his manhood showing fiercely in the shadow of his body. It pulsated between his legs and in his chest, clouding his judgment. He looked at her body again, her small long muscles circling her waist were tensing with each struggle of her body and he deepened his palm in the small hollow at the base of her spine, pushing her down on the blankets gently. She felt small, but rigid as a bow and he liked that; and she was still, but he did not trust her obedience. He kept his eyes on her back while moving his hand back on her buttocks, sinking his fingers slowly but firmly in her flesh and beneath him, Leora screeched her teeth. His lips parted; he needed to let go of the hot air burning his mouth then smiled, but it was the smile of an incredulous teenager, discovering the body of a woman for the first time and it choked him to feel that way. It made him appear vulnerable to her and strangely enough, he didn't urge the feeling away. He stared at her back again and this time noticed the thin layer of sweat glowing across the skin and it fascinated him. Women had sweated in his arms, cried in his arms and pleaded for more, but none had puzzled him this much through silence and a constant threat of disobedience. His hands pressed down separating her flesh and he searched for her core with eager eyes but it escaped him in the dim light of the dying torches. His eyes flickered strongly then the flames, animated by his new desire to torture her, the way she was torturing him. For a moment, it struck him that it was only an excuse, this agony he thought he was putting her through; an excuse for him to play with her body under the false pretence of hurting her. But he dismissed the incriminating thought quickly. He cupped the sides of her ribs, walking his hands up to her shoulder blades and the warmth of her body injured his senses more than he was ready to accept. He was grateful for not seeing her eyes; he could not bear them staring at him; not now. He smiled again, but it came out more like the grin of a villain during his first robbery; insecure and anxious. He bent over her, allowing his hands to reach all the way to her armpits and his breath blew away a few strands of hair stuck to the back of her neck. She startled beneath him and he gripped harder on her flesh. He let his lips roam on the small bone protruding from under her skin, and his steamy breath sent chills down her spine. She trembled and he feasted on the rewards of his little game.

She did well, considering his unexpected assault. She could not believe it; not his lips on her, not his hands playing with her body, but Drogo surprised her further when he sneaked his hands beneath her, coming on top of her so much she could feel his shaft resting against her behind and she made terrible efforts to resist the urge to pull her body away. But there was no room and she laid in expectation with her small breasts now fully cupped by his large hands and her eyes hurt with how hard she kept them closed. She'd rather forgive him for raping her than accepting this torturous foreplay. She moved slightly, her legs shifting underneath his and she felt it, her core, moist and slippery and she became terrified with the thought that he might discover the weakness of her body. She shivered and it was so hard for her to control it; the uncomfortable position she was in, the weight of his body on her, those devilish lips pouring fire on her skin, the furs choking her; she couldn't handle it anymore. Yet suddenly he freed her, as if he knew he had done enough; enough to get what he wanted. He helped her thighs up a bit more for him to dip the tip of his cock inside her moisture, spreading her essence onto him and she stiffened abruptly. He did it again, just as slow, but not to torture her, but to keep his own urge under control; nonetheless, he never lost track of his purpose. Having a harem all to himself had taught him many things about women; things that could hurt them and through that pain, they were awarded with so much pleasure they succumbed faster and easier to his will. And pain is what he wanted for her. He guided his manhood up her cleft, leaving behind the soft mold of her lips, tracing a wet mark as it parted her flesh, up and up, until it reached that one painful spot and he pressed inside.

The ache rippled through her body making her arch at incredible speed but his hands kept her steady while he pressed further inside her buttocks. She screamed and it pierced through his ears and into his brain, but what he did not see, was the tears flowing down her pale face as she tussled to escape his daunting intrusion.

"No, please don't!"

At first he thought he didn't hear it properly. He stopped but did not retreat and she collapsed on the bed feeling how tightly her body was wrapped around his shaft and even the tiniest move would make her flesh sore with pain. "Please… don't!" He could hear her clearly even though the words barely made it through from the furs she had sunk her face in. _Why plead for mercy, witch? Why now?_ Playing time was over. He had fired up with more than passion for her and Khal Drogo, the tribe chieftain had taken over ready to devour his prey; like he was meant to. He cupped her hips filling his palms with her flesh and thrust deeper inside and her screams were only muffled by her own sobbing and the bed covers. He had fallen all the way in and she felt so good it caused him to lower his head in a tremendous effort to contain himself from having her in ways that would make her agonize. Her small shoulders shook from the crying and it angered him more that he even considered her sufferance. She had cheated him, she had betrayed his trust! She stopped crying; her body was numb; her crying alone hovered in his ears, turning his conviction into splinters like old wood crushed under the force of an ax.

He pulled back and it hurt, but next moment he released her; she couldn't move, and even if she could, where could she go. Above her Drogo fell back a bit, supporting his weight on his knees, with both hands resting on his legs, giving himself time to find that anger he needed to finish this and that was now failing him. He cursed again; this time aloud and to himself. He turned her around and she welcomed the cold breeze on her sweaty face. The last torches died and only a few candles remained alive and he couldn't see much other then the eerie glow of her eyes. He spread her legs brutally dragging her down the covers; she looked lifeless but he did not spare her the time to gain her breath. He dropped his weight on her, hugging her body, hiding her underneath him until she fed from the little air he held in the hollow of his neck and she breathed it in hastingly, like a woman drowning, sipping her last drops of life from the air pockets on a cave ceiling. She couldn't move.

Drogo sank his face behind her ear and for the first time he felt how hot her skin was, her hair wet and smelling like flowers, soft and sweet and without giving it much through he swept his tongue along her ear to the roots of her hair and she moaned underneath him with yet another attempt to fight him. She still had it in her to reject him; but he was starting to feel tired, exhausted more by the war going inside his head, his contradictions and indecision that were now costing him his vengeance. He embraced her harder, like a predator wanting to suffocate his victim before indulging into the sweetness of her flesh, and when she succumbed he looked for her again this time diving in her core, making his way inside her and in her heart she fought him, but her body had ceased the battle. He slid passed her slippery lips penetrating her completely; one long painful thrust and she gasped for air, her lips wondering for a moment against his skin.

He stopped, unable to grasp the moment, to realize the treasure she had shared with him. He did not want to acknowledge it. _No! No..._ He manipulated himself into thinking otherwise and went back out to then dive inside her again just as strong and merciless and she gasped again. _Damn you!_ He couldn't take it out of his head, but it was too late. He tightened his hold on her. Her dress folded between their bodies irritated him; he wanted more of her skin, more of her onto him, he wanted too much to have it all. He slid inside her again and got distracted from the little spoils his victory had granted him; he buried deeper in her core, blinding himself with the increasing pleasure. She kicked unexpectedly, arching beneath him as if she had waited all this time to find a reminiscence of strength somewhere in her body to make one last stand, just to spite him. She groaned against his skin right before sinking her teeth in his neck, biting hard and he grunted with the assault. His hands ran into her hair, catching her head from beneath to pin her on the bed; she screamed and growled, like an animal kicking him and he tried to enter her again but she kept slipping from his grasp, sweaty and restless. He did not want to do this, he had never done it before and surely she did not deserve it, but she left him no choice. His fingers curled around the damp strands of hair, pulling hard until he forced her mouth open and he invaded her depth with so much want and desire, it tore through him. He groaned in his throat, unhappy with the truth of his passion for her but soon his focus was stolen away by their kiss. Ravishing, demanding, a fight of a different kind, one that no woman had ever got into with him and he allowed her enough time to battle him so he could enjoy her struggle a little longer. But soon, the fire inside died and slowly, so did their passion and he found himself tasting her lips, toying with her tongue, forcing her to respond to something he did not want to give her, yet it transpired through his kiss. He released her lips suddenly, aware of his change of attitude and went back on his knees, to put as much distance in between them as he could; he lifted her up to meet him and parted her lips, massaging slowly her sensitive bud, up and down her cleft; obliviously. He placed his shaft inside her, cupping her small thighs in his hands, driving himself inside her, watching his length penetrating her all the way through, watching the layer of sweat building on her belly and he pushed the material away to enjoy her naked skin. Small traces of smeared blood remained on her hip bones as he kept rocking inside her, slower but deeper, faster but harder.

Leora let her head fall back. She couldn't find that pain anymore, the pain that justified her battle, her struggle to keep him from forcing himself on her. _I want it! I want you, pain!_ She called for it in her head with tears in her eyes, but it never came. Instead her body lit with fire coming from his cock sliding inside her relentlessly, searing through her belly and up into her chest and her breasts hardened, blooming under his eyes. She turned her head around into the shadows, so he can't see what he was doing to her; how he was making her feel.

Drogo saw her hiding and bent over her to grab her and bring her into the dim light of the moon creeping through the tarp. But his intention caused him to slip too deep and she hurt, arching on the covers and he stopped midway, struck by an unexpected urge pooling in his groin, so demanding that there was no time to control it. He let go of her supporting his weight on his hands, looking down on her tossing beneath him and he forced her legs up with his knees, lowering himself on her thighs to end his torment. Leora could not resist him, she was swept by his want to have her, by the strength of his body now dragging her into oblivion and the harder his thrusts the more her body vibrated and she opened herself to him, until with one last growl he embedded himself inside her so deep it hurt both of them and she hit him with her fists wherever her hands could reach. He grinned and rushed to catch her lower lip with his teeth, pulling a little too rough, until it bled; he made her toes curl and she couldn't tell whether it was the unbelievable pleasure striking in her womb or the pain of his bite.

It consumed him for a while and he kept his mouth on hers under the pretext of regaining his strength, when in fact he just wanted to sooth her pain now that a drop of blood had made its way to the lobe of her ear. He groaned, barely. He needed to get away from her; he couldn't think clearly. He pushed himself up, standing slowly, a bit dizzy and in the dim light his eyes lingered on her ravished body. She breathed calmly and he could tell her body still resonated with their love making from the way her knees startled lightly every now and then. He turned his eyes away from the sight. _What happened?_ He frowned, taking heavy steps in the sand as he pushed the tarp aside. He stood in the moonlight letting the desert wind cool his shivering body. He looked down at his nakedness and smiled; he did not remember a time when he had put on such display in camp before; there was a time for pleasure and a time for war and when battling, he only he used his body to defeat. Now he felt defeated. The smile turned into a grimace; it was a bitter victory over a woman who, without even knowing it, was making him act foolishly. He looked at his fingers stained with her innocence. His jaw trembled. _She owed you that! At least that!_ In the back of his head he knew better than that, but for now he would feed on his pride and let her feed on his revenge. He looked at the moon shinning bright above the fluttering flags. The night was young and so was their marriage, much was yet to be said and done.

** W**

He peaked inside, afraid to even assume what he might find and waited to be thrown out for his intrusion; but nothing happened. The tent looked still and silent and Jorah dared to step inside. The candles had burnt out and the wax had hardened in thick forms of flowing rivers on the side. He looked around but there was no sign of them; no sign of struggle either. His heart rushed to beat faster with the slight hope of things having gone right, but the bed seemed to tell him a different story. A candle was thrown randomly on the animal skins; his eyes searched for more signs but somehow he did not want to know. He hid his face away in his palms taking a moment to breath in the horror of facing her now. But the air never reached his lungs dying out in his clotted airways and he choked falling desperately on his knees. His face swelled with the lack of air, his eyes popped out with the pain and he turned face up trying to make room in between his ribs for that air that grew scarcer and hotter with every second. He hawked a few times trying to clear his throat and that took more of his little energy, until the Mighty Powers were merciful enough to settle his heart and appease his lungs; he rested against the bed waiting to regain his strength. His entire body seemed to breathe as each little vein battled to gain a small part of the oxygen he had just provided his body with. His forehead was sweaty and he dragged his hand up to wipe it on the long sleeve; the effort was too much for him. He let the hand fall back in his lap; his eyes searched around the tent, reaching to the side where he saw the thin veils move gently with the breeze. He blinked a few times, as if he saw a chimera and bent a bit to recognize the treachery of his eyes. But no, there she was, motionless, with her long hair heavy down her shoulders, like an illusion hidden away by the deceiving curtain. It gave him enough power to stand and limp his way to her; his fingers pushed aside the brownish material and his eyes finally laid on her.

Leora kept her back straight, her eyes forward, still as rock. Her hands alone were movingly gently, as if in a dream, brushing her long hair, endlessly. Jorah placed his hand on hers taking the brush away and she let her hands rest in her lap. He thought he should take one more breath but feared it might cause him another attack when he knew he was already facing one just by seeing her this way. He cupped her small shoulder wanting her to turn around but she remained unresponsive, so he made the journey around the chair to look at her. Her eyes were as clear as she remembered them, only that now they held the secret of the night before and she had closed that away in the depth of those mirror eyes. Her face was as pale and beautiful, unmarked by sufferance; her lower lip alone bore the signs of her struggle and he wanted to caress it and make her feel better, but he was too ashamed for having sent her to her demise in the first place. She was wearing a white plane dress and his eyes searched in vain for other signs of violence, but he couldn't find anything.

"Don't worry for me Jorah." It made him succumb to tears and he turned his head around, avoiding her eyes. "Jorah. Jorah, please, look at me." And he did, with old foggy eyes swimming in clear waters that rarely took the best of him. They both kept silent for a moment and he bowed his eyes; guilt was worse than his illness and it exhausted him just as much. "My dear Jorah… what now?" and she sounded plane, undeterred and unimpressed. No emotions for bad, no emotions for good, nothing and he looked at her again to see whether he had lost her that night. But her face was as livid as her voice, like the undisturbed surface of a deep lake. He prayed that was a good sign; still, his voice trembled when he spoke.

"I wish…" His back hurt suddenly and he bent supporting his weight against the table and she hurried to help him stand. She went around him quickly pulling a chair for him to sit down and face her. He took a moment to deal with the torment in his bones then looked at her again and she dreaded seeing him suffer. Somehow it made her sorrow insignificant. "I wish I brought better news… now. Especially now."

"Last night meant nothing Jorah. Let us not dwell on it." Again they fell silent because neither of them believed her words. A flicker of pride lit his sick body; his girl was holding strong; still her strength had come at a price.

"I have seen Alchantar; here." And for the first time that morning her eyes rippled with interest and focus. "I believe he has met with Drogo by now." It was too much for her at once. She fell back in the chair, lowering her head.

"When did it happen?"

"I don't know."

They looked at each other and they couldn't find the answer to their own question.

"What if he knows?"

"Do you think he knows?"

Leora took a moment to think back at their night together. She was confused; she didn't know what Drogo was like, she couldn't tell whether he was a brute always, or just with her.

"I cannot tell." She got up and moved away suddenly. "I need more time with him."

"It does not matter anyways." Leora turned around to face him; she looked tired and Jorah saw how she straightened her back again, pressing down with her fist below her ribs. His eyes questioned her silently and this time she was the one running away from him. Jorah stood up slowly coming before her; he caressed her arms from the shoulders down to her elbows and she shivered not wanting to hear him speak. "Leora?..." It was more of a worried question, and he did not want to address it as much she did not want to hear it, but he had to know the length of his mistake. She looked at him, like a guilty child, her lips came together, locking the answer away. "Oh, Leora… I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" His embrace was so comforting, his shoulder a perfect hide out for her pain but it brought tears to her eyes and he had worked throughout the entire night to build her new composure; she couldn't name that new self yet, but she knew it would be stronger than the one before.

"Jorah, it's alright. It really is. I have chosen this path remember?"

"I am not so sure anymore…"

"Some things in life require sacrifice."

"Some things in life are not worth such sacrifice."

"Then at least we should make it worthwhile!" But Jorah needed another moment to agree with her. "Now advise me councilor. What would you have me do?"

Jorah watched her with a more positive attitude and a trace of a smile on his shivering lips.

"Until we find out whether Drogo knows the truth about you or not, we must act as if nothing is wrong."

"You said it doesn't matter anyways. Why?"

"Because his laws forbid him to separate from you; not unless you do something to dishonor him."

"Haven't I done that by alluring him to marry a half-breed?"

"That was for him to know beforehand and that is for you to gain from! He knows it was his business to look into his wife's past. Lucky for us, he didn't have the time."

"So he has to endure with me now?"

"Yes, but only because the law asks him to. You must be very careful, very, _very_ careful child! One mistake, one word said improperly and it will be the end of you!"

"It seems Khal Drogo has a lot of rules."

"I will teach you."

"I thought I should just be myself." And her eyes wondered for a moment, disappointed with the outcome of the conversation.

"No rule is ever going to break your spirit, Leora. But you will be able to bend his limitations and turn them into your favor. I trust that completely!"

"I told you, you trust me more than I do myself!"

"And I have not been wrong so far in doing so."

She sighed and Jorah felt the impulse to caress the top of her head so he messed her hair a bit with his shaky hands. Leora smiled.

"I have a lot to learn…"

"The only thing you really need to learn is how to be patient. No woman has ever been where you are now; no one can tell you what will happen. Remember what I've told you; listen to your heart to defeat him! It takes time."

"Time is what I have…" and she sounded bitter, like a rabbit cornered and with no way out.

"Don't look so desperate child. You're not dead and you're not crying…" Joah looked away for a moment then came back to stare in her eyes "… after last night. That is good enough for me; it should be good enough for you."

"What makes you think I wasn't close to dying? Or that I have not cried?"

"That is not important." Leora looked puzzled. "What is important is what I see now. What your people will see when you step out of this tent. That's what's important! If your heart cries, they won't see it; they will only see the smile on your face."

"That's torture."

"That's strength!"

She looked away; secretly she had missed their contradictory discussions. It was bringing her back to life, even though the pain in her back was a sorrow reminder of her night with Drogo. She refrained from massaging her back anymore; it was a sign of weakness.

"I will get ready then." Jorah bowed and prepared to leave. "Jorah!" she sounded desperate for a second as she hurried to catch up with him. She stopped abruptly right before him, but now she was speechless, ashamed to ask for a hug. Her hands were shaking hinting at her frailty and she retreated submissively.

"Khaleesi!..." She looked up at him and his open arms and her lips shivered like a young child's. She ran to his chest and hid safely away from the world, for just a moment and Jorah held her tight. She mumbled against his coat.

"Why did you call me that? What is it?"

Jorah replied with his cheek pressed against her temple.

"It's what you are. A Khaleesi." Leora looked at him, blinking fast to dry her eyes. "The Khalasar's wife."

Leora broke away from his embrace and sat back in the chair.

"I am confused with their many names and strange language. It is so unfamiliar to me."

"In time you will know more, learn more. For now just remember his name, who he is and what he is to his people." Leora looked carefully at Jorah taking mental notes of her councilor's words. "Drogo is the Khal, the King. Before the age of thirty he led a khalasar of forty thousand strong, one of the largest armies on the Dothraki Sea coast."

"A khalasar? I thought that was him!"

"He is one with his people. After his father died, he took the throne as chieftain and pledged his life to the welfare of his tribe. Outside the Dothraki boundaries people started calling him the Khalasar; his tribe became his middle name, his other identity and that will never change."

Leora fell silent; many thoughts roamed now freely in her mind. She had not considered what would happen from this point forward.

"That means Pentos will never be his home."

"No. It will not."

Leora stood up slowly coming before Jorah and he wished he had done a much better job at supporting her, but he was just a bad omen.

"I don't know what to say."

"You'll find your words. Be patient and be strong. The enemy is still lurking."

Leora swallowed in drily; _Alchantar!_

"Find Drogo and do not let him out of your sight. Do not give Alchantar the chance to do more damage than he's already done! The battle is not over yet." Leora nodded silently. "Then meet me in my tent when Drogo allows you to. I shall tell you more about your new home and husband." He enjoyed seeing that spark of eagerness in her eyes.

"I will." But still her voice was weak. Jorah lifted her chin up with his bony fingers and smiled his crooked sweet smile.

"I am so proud of you." His eyes shadowed for a moment with the bitterness of her ordeal but he insisted on not spending any more time on what has been, but on what was to come. "I really am."

Leora remained alone, with her feet deeply sunk in the sand, with just the early morning wind coming in to keep her company through the tarp. For a moment she wondered if her life was still her own; her destiny seemed to be in the hands of another and she didn't know how to get it back.

** W**

He looked silently across the horizon; he had witnessed the sun rise many times, but rarely did he have the chance to enjoy its colors and warmth. The son of the Mighty Powers was kind to them; unlike many others hunting them down. Cedric bowed his eyes to the mild light, content with the caress on his eyelids. The door opened and Nersin came inside holding a vessel filled with water and she struggled a bit to close the door with her heal. The pockets of her apron were filled with bandages and medication and she made her way carefully around his sandals and weapons thrown randomly across the room until she reached the table. She put the vessel down gently and emptied the pockets, unfolding the bandages. Cedric looked at her as if she were an apparition from a dream; Nersin took a moment to observe him in the light of dawn. He looked pale and helpless, sitting in his chair, looking out of the window. It wasn't like him to be so silent and numb. She looked at the wound on his shoulder and soaked the bandage in the water. Cedric swallowed in quickly; he wasn't sure whether he wanted to let her touch him. She had avoided him since their unexpected love making, yet her eyes had remained gentle and had warmed up to him with each passing day.

Nersin came behind him cleaning his wound; it had closed and the sutures looked well, but it could still get infected. She was careful to not let her fingers touch him; just the bandage; in slow circling movements and still a few drops of water ran down his chest and into the dry material covering his waist. She shied away for a moment, but couldn't help tracing with her eyes the wet mark shinning across his muscles and he tensed sensing her watching him.

"Nersin…" She backed off fast, putting the bandage aside to take a clean one.

"This won't take long."

She hurried to put the medicine and it stung a bit with the pressure she applied to make it penetrate each crack in his healing wound.

"Nersin!..." He took her hand and forced her to stop. She refused to look at him. "We need to talk."

"No we don't."

_Damn it woman, look at me!_ Cedric stood up slowly dragging her into the light where the green depths rippled when finally staring into his eyes.

"What happened…" and he wished he didn't sound like he was about to lecture her, but he didn't know what to say either, or what to do. She confused him.

"It doesn't matter." Her voice didn't tremble but her lips did and Cedric couldn't help noticing the pain surging in her eyes. _I'm used to it…_ "I know about you and her."

"About… about who?"

"Leora."

Cedric shifted position breathing in quickly. Since the battle, the love making, Dene's fright of the cries and of the wounded, the wait for news, he had not even given Leora a thought. Not the way he used to; now she was just another part of the big plan. He looked at Nersin and she had already fled back to her little shell, hiding from him. He had been more worried with her and how she looked at him, how she cared for his people. He looked again outside the window and all of a sudden he felt Uyack to be his home more than ever. A few weeks back he would have given it all up to follow Leora anywhere; now he just felt comfortable being here, watching Nersin do her chores, looking after her brother, fleeing from him. And it did not surprise him to feel this way.

"There is –"

"No man has ever made me feel this way." He didn't expect that from her so he remained silent. "You can have me, if you want me. I will not be in your way. When she returns I will find a new home for me and Dene. The worst has passed; we will be fine." She sounded like she actually believed her own words when in fact she feared tomorrow just as much as she feared the dark in her lonely nights.

"Nersin! –" But his words died the moment she took a step back letting the apron fall to the ground. She released the cordon and soon her dress followed it on the floor, in flowery folds around her tiny feet. He forgot to breathe, his heart was trying to climb up his throat and his eyes couldn't choose what to contemplate first. The milky skin mingling with the honey of the stronger sun, or the pinkish nipples still shy in the morning chill. He rested against the table, with his hands behind his back to restrain himself from touching her. His shoulder ached but it didn't matter. He looked down at his feet, at the wooden floor, trying to ignore her tiny ankles sticking out from the clothing thrown randomly. He wished she covered herself and not tempt him so much. _What are you thinking, girl?!_

"Nersin –"

"Please –"

"_Stop_ interrupting me!" And this time he stared at her so strongly that she backed off in retreat. She blushed, so suddenly and unexpectedly that she hurried to collect her clothes and disappear. _What were you thinking!_ But Cedric was faster and caught both her wrists making her stay; naked in the sun, blushing, with her body blossoming when he touched her and she looked away. "Look at me! Nersin!" He waited patiently and finally she did. He took a deep breath before he spoke again. "There is nothing between me and Leora!"

"Lier!" she lashed at him fast and squeaked, like the bark of a puppy who had just been kicked for asking for food.

"Shut up and listen!" he looked away for a moment trying to find the right words, but never let go of her and she struggled a bit against his decision to hold her prisoner. "There was a time when I thought there was… something. _I thought_ there was something. But there never was, I just refused to see it."

"I do not care to know. I am here to offer you pleasure, not love."

"Then you have nothing to offer me!" She pulled back but he didn't let go still. Her eyes filled with tears. She struggled again, and again he dismissed all her attempts to gain her freedom. "You are not a slave anymore. No one is forcing you to offer services to anyone. To any man! Not even to me!"

"But you… you…" A few tears came down fast dripping in her mouth and she bounced back licking them off her lips. He released her and cupped her face gently, cleaning them for her. She placed her palms on his hands, trying to push him away. "Dene told me about your father. About your mother. About everything." The sound of her crying broke him; it was bitter and deep, coming from a beaten animal, but he didn't let go. "That time is over. No one is hurting you here; you have to stop fighting and start trusting. Start trusting the people, your destiny and until you don't do that, I do not want you."

Nersin pushed him away with all her might grabbing her clothes, wrapping her nakedness in them. She walked backwards towards the door, wounded, now that he knew her secret.

"It's what I am! A whore… Better say that's the reason you do not want me anymore. Now that you know…" She cried the words from her heart bleeding inside, facing a past she could never change.

"Believe what you want Nersin! But I tell you, if you do not claim your life back, then you are not worth of me. I need a woman here, with me, living today, thinking about tomorrow! Not a little girl who still mourns about her past. I don't need that; Dene doesn't need it either!"

"I have never known a life outside my father's walls. I have no life to go back to."

"Then there is always a new beginning. We are withholders of our destinies and as long as we draw breath we build our own lives the way we choose and pay our dues later when we meet the Mighty Fathers."

She took another step back until she reached the door; she pulled harder on her clothes, still feeling exposed. She didn't know what to believe anymore; she never thought he'd refuse her gift. For a moment she thought he'd enjoyed having her.

Cedric looked at her and it seemed as if the burden of the world had collapsed on her shoulders all of a sudden. She was tired and exhausted, but not from their argument, but from the nightmares she was carrying inside. He felt a muscle flicker in his jaw and he fought to control it. He didn't want to let her see how much he wanted to sweep her off her feet and make love to her, heal her, care for her. Nersin ran away leaving the door slamming against the wooden frame in her hasty way out. Cedric turned to face the new day unfolding before his eyes as clear as the day light he finally knew what he had to do with this girl.

**Author's note**

**Guys, so sorry it took so long. I was out in vacation for a couple of weeks and then when I got back, work was waiting for me in enormous quantities haha. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this and it's good that we're back on track now! MUAH to all of you, and thanks again for reading and reviewing!**

**First lady Lestat – Well, here is the confrontation. Doesn't look like much of a confrontation, but then again some battles are not fought with weapons **

**Guest – thanks so much! Glad you liked t, hope I hear from you now too! MUAH**

**Straight Edge Queen – Yeah, Jorah is a loveable guy, isn't he? And Drogo… yummy… what can I say, you can tell I love him and every time I describe him I think I'm should do more, add more. It's never enough hahaha! Leora is coming around. Her life is changing, she begins to learn. Hope to catch you later girl!**

**Kyliesaysficken, nosetip thanks for following the story guys!**

**I'm sorry if I'm missing anyone, I tried my best to look back and see who else reviewed or got somehow connected to the story. **


	16. Chap 15 - For what is worth

**For what is worth**

_**Three weeks after the wedding**_

_**The day before the banquette**_

Leora set motionless, resting her chin on her knees; she enjoyed the roughness of the abrupt wall on her sensitive skin as she supported her weight against it. She folded the many veils enveloping her body and crouched further; her lips pressed gently on the white knees. The coldness of the Dothraki cliffs crept through her ribs and into her chest, making something deep inside her pulsate. She squeezed harder pulling the legs even closer to contain that unwanted warmth still squirming in her womb. The memory of their nights together was seeded so thoroughly in her mind that it forced her body to remember each touch, lingering on the troubling sensation of him sliding inside her to the very bitter end. She closed her eyes tightly; she could not control his imprint on her and she blamed it on her lack of experience. If she had known another man before him maybe it would have been easier to let go, but against her struggle, against her acting and ignorance, Khal had proven to be a worthy adversary in bed and her constant fighting seemed to bring him more pleasure than anything. She thought he wouldn't touch her once he got home, that he'd go back to his mistresses and let her be. But instead he indulged into many late nights of long excruciating trials on her body and she feared the worse. She had last bled a week before their battle; soon it should happen again. _But what if -_

"Khaleesi…" Leora found it hard to answer; her mind was still caught up in this newly discovered concern. "Khaleesi, the Khalasar invites you to lunch with his lordship."

She watched the man kneeled before her with his forehead buried in the sand. She was uncomfortable with such display of servitude. She opened her mouth to speak and against the soft winds of the sea her voice came out strong.

"Tell the Khalasar that I am not feeling well and would prefer to remain in my room for the day. Please…"

The servant remained quiet, his eyes still fixing the ground; a rebel wave found its way to her toes sending chills up her spine and she dug with her feet to put a sandy blanket on top and escape its wet touch.

"The Khalasar insists…"

She took a moment watching the sea becoming more agitated in the horizon.

"He said that?" Another pause.

"Yes, my Khaleesi…"

Leora took a deep breath; she didn't know whether to enjoy his participation in what had now become a game between the two of them; where she rejected and he insisted. Her lips gathered together and her chin went up in defiance; no, she was annoyed by his insistence. _The Khaleesi has decided!_ She smiled thinking how he always had the last word just by saying that; well now it was her turn to decide.

"Then please let the Khal know that I insist to remain here. I will dine with him tonight, when I feel better." She breathed in shortly to give herself courage then ended abruptly, but sweetly. "Thank you."

But she was interrupted by the servant staring at her in disbelief. Her disobedience was famous by now and the water tribe did not approve with her behavior. A foreigner ruling them; a foreigner with no consideration to their leader, keeping silent and secluded – who _knows what she is planning behind our backs_ she kept hearing the whispers in the far corners of the palace. She was not trusted among his people; but she did not trust them either. The servant bowed again and moved back a few steps, still on his knees, leaving deep traces in the wet sand. Then he stood up and hurried away, until his presence was felt no more and the silence of the sea took over again. She looked at the waves; they had grown bigger; it was early afternoon but the clouds had conquered the skies and now they were also winning over her braveness. She sighed, with a short interrupted breath and glanced with the corner of her eye, ready to welcome a small army coming to drag her to lunch. She stood still, her hearing focused, her senses sharp. But nothing happened and little by little her body loosened, her hands unwrapped; they had gone white with how hard she had held them together. She didn't know what to believe of this man anymore. _Jorah!..._ He had said he'd come visit but he could not do it without the approval of her husband. But finally Khal had decided to welcome his new and old allies to a banquet honoring the peace they had built together. The invitations had been sent two weeks before; the banquet was to happen the following day and she was anxious. Jorah had taught her much about the Dothraki; still nothing had prepared her for their loyalty and obedience to the Khal. And nothing had disturbed her more than seeing Drogo so devoted to his people, with such pride in his eyes that it made her bow hers in recognition of his exemplary leadership.

She shivered and against all her efforts, she felt lonely and alienated. She had tried to build a mental fortress for her to stay inside, secluded but safe from his desires and demanding attitude. But her walls were crumbling under his relentless siege and she found herself desperately trying to mend the cracks; but at no avail. She found it hard to stay alert and focused on her mission – that of keeping her Pentos safe and Alchantar at bay through the alliance with the Dothraki. It was too much to fight - the unwelcoming attitude of the locals from morning till evening and his Khalsar attitude at night. She had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The clouds above thundered deep inside their bellies and it seemed as if the cliffs were now putting their burden on her shoulders. She knew she had to go back sooner or later, so why not now? But she didn't find the will or the power to release the body from the embrace of her arms. In the little cocoon she had created, she felt warm. She looked at the skies above; they had started crying with heavy tears dropping gently on her forehead. She heard it coming from far away, coming fast across the sea; a tall blurry curtain of rain drawing faster and closer. She heard the ripple, the commotion of the waves as the rain cut through them advancing towards her like a block of icy pins and she remained hypnotized with the image. Short moments later it rained down on her, fast and cold and she shivered with the sensation. She was wet to the bone; her eyes were crying with the tears of the Gods and she closed them against that watery heaviness; it saddened her soul.

She got up, slowly, using the stone wall for support. The hair had stuck to her temples, being rushed in her mouth with every swish of the merciless rain. It was so dark it felt like evening. Dark around, dark inside her chest. She took one step away from the shelter of the cliff and she lost her balance facing the harsh wind. Her clothes got wrapped around her legs, wet and heavy and helped bring her down. Her palms buried in the moist sand. It was so cold; or maybe it was just the exhaustion of her sleepless nights and the weariness washing through her from morning till dawn. She thought she heard something. Another wave broke right next to her sending the white foam and icy needles in her skin. She coughed and tried her luck again pushing to get up. She saw them right before closing her eyes when with a painful sting - the servants' feet were right under her nose. His arms came strong to her help and she was up, having him now to battle the sea for her. She looked up, trying to peak at her unexpected protector; he was no mere servant, not like the one before. The imposing Dothraki had gotten her eye ever since she came to Khal's court; a tall quiet man, with long dark hair that had made way to silvery strings of old age in between. But it only made him look milder in her eyes, wiser; and for some reason she did not understand why he was feared so at the palace. He didn't look menacing to her. Even though, somehow, he did. She shook her head, confused with her own explanations. She felt his arms guide her through the gusts of wind and she hid her face away to his chest. She was warm again.

** w**

The sound of her little feet slapping wet on the marble floor resounded throughout the silence of the palace. She hurried stepping lightly and hurriedly trying to keep up with his long, calm, gigantic steps. And it wasn't easy. Dilawar was leading the way to her chambers and she kept silent, out of breath and cold. The door closed behind them and she shivered against it, pulling on the veils as if that could help warm her up. Dilawar rushed to pull the curtains and stop the wind from rushing inside madly. Now it was dark and she waited for him to light the candles across the room, patiently. She didn't speak yet she had things she wanted to ask; but perhaps it wasn't safe. She bowed her head in defeat to her insecurity. She wished she didn't feel so estranged and weak.

"Khaleesi…"

His voice was hoarse to the point of scratching the hearing and it captivated her attention every single time he spoke. Her eyes met his in the semi obscurity of the room and they stared for a moment, then he went back to his obeying posture, hiding his eyes away from hers. She couldn't help it; Leora took a few hesitant steps towards him, coming close enough to force him into looking at her again; But his eyes kept escaping her, undecided whether she was sending him an invitation or it was just a mere test of his respect to her.

"I feel…" she sounded weak, but unfortunately she could not find more strength within to make it better. "I feel you shouldn't look down." She paused again fearing every word that came out of her mouth. Dilawar was only a servant but he was a Dothraki and at this point she felt less insignificant than that, for she was a stranger. "Your eyes have much to say. Much to tell."

Dilawar finally dared and kept his regard steady with hers. He bowed again gratifyingly, then swiftly moved around her to leave the room.

"What am I doing wrong?" and she didn't know whether it was a question for him or for her. Or maybe it was just her thoughts and she didn't never really utter them out loud; they sounded so dim and lost. Dilawar stopped with his hands on the door handle. He took a chest full of air, considering if it was his place to answer her worries. He blinked fast and clenched his teeth knowing the decision was already made the moment she had given him credit a few moments before.

"You are who you are. And who you are does not fit into this world."

"Why is your world so different than mine?"

They were left back to back with only a few feet of floor in between them, yet none turned to face the other. It was easier that way.

"They are not, but people feel safer thinking that they are. It empowers them to fulfill their dreams and honor their beliefs." Dilawar turned around looking at her tiny figure crayoned against the flickering candle light. "And they believe to be strong and they believe their strength lies with their ruler. And now their ruler has been stained. By you."

Leora swallowed in feeling the blood push fast in her veins forcing a reaction out of her. She faced the Dothraki with fiery eyes, matching the small flames fighting the cunning wind sneaking inside.

"If anything, I have stained your leader with my courage and diligence into keeping this war at bay… and other such threats that I shall not name now!" she stopped hearing her tone raise and that's not what she wanted. She wanted answers; in a blink she understood that the ignorance and malevolence of the Dothraki did not hurt her, it enraged her, for she never wished to be there in the first place. She had never wanted to _stain_ their leader – _in the first place!_ She quickly placed the back of her hand over her mouth wiping it as if she wanted to get the dirty words off her lips. Dilawar waited patiently; like he always did. He had seen her grow anxious and knew this day would come; and felt at ease with her taking this vengeful proud stance in his presence and not someone else's. The outcome would have been very different. He rather enjoyed her warrior spirit; still, he wished she smiled more. He gasped shortly for air. The Khal was more pleased with her than he admitted; but it's always much easier to observe things from outside the fire than when you're burning in it.

"I know." His answer came so unexpectedly; simple and straight forward it took her aback. She looked at him trying to find any mockery behind his words, but there was none. "But many do not. For that, you must show them."

"How?" and immediately she reconsidered the question in her mind. Maybe she should have asked _why_, for at the end of the day she didn't care. This was not meant to last anyway. So _why_ was a more suited question. Her moment of drift didn't escape Dilawar but she couldn't back off now.

"How will come from why." She frowned.

"I do not understand."

"You'll know what to do when you know why you have to do it."

"I know why I am here."

"But do you feel it?"

"Feelings have nothing to do with this!" and then she seemed to partially grasp on the meaning of his words. "But yes, I feel…" she stumbled for a second. "I feel…" _Why is it so hard? _"I am honored to be here, I am loyal! Loyalty is a feeling, isn't it? The love of your country? My country! That's a feeling too, and I feel it!" She felt stupid. It was her worst speech so far and she backed off with a muffled breath. "I know why I am here." And she felt that was the safest way to conclude her disastrous argument. Dilawar waited for a moment for her to relax a bit after the failed attempt to reason through her own jungle of thoughts.

"Your loyalty to your country is most glorifying, my Khaleesi." And he bowed. "But your country is far away from here. From you. And Pentos awaits salvation through the decisions you make here, where a new beginning lies for you. Here it does not matter what you feel for your kind, it matters what you feel for the Khalasar. For he is your present and future. The Westeros throne is your past and if you wish it back in your life you must _feel_ for the Khal, not for Pentos." Leora frowned combatively as if she didn't agree with the idea even before he finished speaking.

"I am still Queen of Pentos, the Westeros Throne is still mine to hold and care for! It cannot be my past."

"It is behind you now and you must leave it there, where it is safe for now."

She took a moment to work through her stubbornness and see his point. She paced slowly and the wet clothes sent chills down her spine; she shivered again and stopped to put an end to the freezing torture. Her breath was steamy. She had fought this war for Pentos and now Pentos was safe. _For now_. He was right and for a brief moment she looked desperate. Pentos would be safe as long as she was here, pleasing the Khal.

"I cannot please him forever…" she whispered it so faintly that the sound of the tears rolling down her cheeks seemed louder. Dilawar did not expect that. He had not seen her smile, but he did not wish to see her cry.

"Khaleesi, I was wrong. Forgive me!" and he dropped to her feet. "I speak without knowing. Forgive this ignorant for troubling you so deeply!"

"Stand Dilwar." But he didn't hear her. "Dilwar, stand up…please!" He didn't; he just looked at her and she stretched her hand to help him up. "The truth hurts at times."

Dilawar looked for a way around, but he had always had trouble with words and being blunt about things was one of his major faults. He caught her hand holding tight; it felt so small. Then he got up abruptly letting go and he opened the door to the bedroom. He turned to bow and while with his forehead lowered he spoke again in a soft voice.

"He is already pleased with you." His eyes caught hers suddenly. "You just need to make him aware of that."

He left.

** w**

_**A week before the banquette**_

The sun felt good. It warmed up his face, his chest and for the first time in a long while his lungs did not congest; freedom to breathe. Jorah risked a chuckle; he felt like a lizard on the banks of the river. He breathed in again; it felt good, so good. He heard faint steps hurrying his way but he could not break away from the godly sensation he was experiencing. The pacing stopped behind him and then nothing.

"My Lord!" It was one of the servants. A young boy always wearing a funny hat he thought to be fashionable. Jorah smiled; he indulged in the young man's fashion tastes. He was a breath of fresh air in the up-tight class court, overwhelmed with the glitter of jewels and the finesse of expensive textiles. And talking about breathes, he drew another one; a chest full of that clean Pentos air.

"Yes…" his answer came out mumbled and bored. He liked it. He couldn't really afford to be bored so that sweet shade of boredom in his voice oiled his rusty wheels. Made him feel younger and worry free.

"A letter for you, My Lord."

Jorah Mormont sighed; it was time he went back to being an old man with a lot to worry on his mind. His eyes opened blinking fast. It blinded him but it still felt good and lazy. He stretched his hand aimlessly, waiting for the boy to find it and place the paper in his palm. He wasn't ready to fully return to his real self. The paper felt rather heavy in his hand. He took the envelope and fell back in his chair, closing his eyes. He listened to the boy disappear among the trees and wondered how guilty he would feel not to open that letter on the spot. _Something important_… or maybe not. He breathed in again, enjoying the weight of the paper in his hand. Or maybe his body was too numb and light with this incredible feeling of easiness that made everything else feel heavy. He pulled up a bit; he couldn't ignore his correspondence. Not in a time like this. He frowned almost painfully, allowing his eyes to get used to the shades, curves and color of the seal on the envelope. His breathing slowed down to where it started hurting his chest. _Khal!_ His mind ran wild. _Leora!_ His fingers trembled as he rushed to tear it open and reveal its precious contents. There were two papers. One, carefully folded and he took a moment to caress the paper, feeling its rough texture. The second looked more like a note, tore neglectfully. Words were scrambled on it and it baffled him to receive such mixed messages. He put the small one aside thinking it must be a side note to the letter; he opened it. Before reading he glanced again at the note. Something in the back of his mind told him that no scholar of Khal's would ever commit such a neglectful thing as adding a scrambled piece of paper to an official letter. But he dismissed the thought going back to the intricate writing before his eyes. His heart pounded stronger with each line he read and he couldn't help grinning if not visible, at least in his mind. _An invitation!_ He could finally see Leora! It had arrived rather late; but then again Khal had always been so indecisive. He must've agreed to the banquette at the last minute. Now he was left a week to get there. He will travel light, with just a few men to carry the presents for the newlyweds and their new home. He would most likely be late, but it wouldn't matter as long as he got there to see her. His lungs filled in with more than just air – there was joy and excitement he didn't know he could feel anymore. What a gift this girl had been to him, so unexpected, yet much needed. He shivered slightly and realized that unconsciously their upcoming encounter was physically straining him already. He looked at his feet, with the toes sticking out from under the robe and couldn't help sadden at the bony pale sight. He wished he had been in better health, but it'll do. He read the letter again fugitively, to make that soothing feeling linger and it made him smile again. He must prepare at once! There was little time before sunset and he had to leave at the crack of dawn; no time to waste! He got up abruptly holding tightly to the letter. He smiled for a third time - which was too much for Sir Jorah Mormont, all in one day - and hurried away from the bench, then halted, remembering. He turned around slowly, looking down at the small piece of paper he had left behind. It was struggling against the mild wind, with its torn edges fretting with every gust. He went back, one tiny step at a time, as if he were afraid to touch it and spent some time staring at it. An eerie feeling crept in his soul and clouded the sunshine the invitation had just bestowed upon him. He swallowed in but finally took the fragile note between his fingers, and secretly, he made a quick wish to cast away all bad omens that might arise from the riddles written inside.

He lifted the paper closer to his tired eyes; the pupil focused difficultly and his heart followed the rhythm of his silent reading; and with each word it sank deeper in his dry chest. There was still sunshine in his eyes, only that now the skies cried a mild summer rain filling them with more than just warmth. It was balance, it was completeness and he hugged the note to his chest.

** w**

She stared at the clear water, at its sinuous movements. She did not dare to step in. The servant girl was waiting obediently, with her eyes stuck to the floor but Leora couldn't bring herself to let go of the coverings. She trembled slightly.

"Leave me." She hadn't even thought of that properly before saying it but it must've been on her mind if she uttered it so suddenly. The girl remained motionless for a while not knowing what to make of the water vessel she was holding; knowing it was not the Khaleesi's place to pour her own water in the tub but when no other command came from Leora she decided to set the vessel down and retreat humbly from the bedroom. Leora did not follow her; she remained hypnotized with the water; just as before. She feared feeling comfortable; it would have made her let the guard down. Her stomach growled noisily; she should have eaten something. After Dilawar had left she had only had some fruits to eat and Khal never pressured her to have dinner with him later on that evening. She didn't know what to make of it; he was so temperamental that she did not trust such silent behavior on his part. No orders, no calling for her, no visits to her chamber. She let the air out of her fretting nostrils and she sounded like a nervous mare. _Wretched shadows! You coward! _The veil fell to the ground as she stepped naked inside the copper tub. The warm water hit her senses instantaneously and she barely helped not closing her eyes with a moan. She felt guilty for feeling good and she rejected this delight she indulged in because it melted her attention away. She crouched slowly, with her hearing focused, her eyes searching minutely around the room, to make sure no one was there to see her nakedness; that of her body and that of her soul.

The storm had passed but had left the clouds behind to cover the skies and the sea was dark and billowy. Darkness felt the best. She kept her eyes closed stretching her legs, straightening her shoulders, enjoying the water cuddle with her curves. She felt the night wind coming through the curtains sending chills in the back of her head; she turned to see it but saw nothing else but the white veils being played by its invisible hands. She went back to the darkness. The water was caressing her inner thigh and gave her a strange sensation resembling the touch of a hand. She took a deep breath in. _His fingers sneaked unseen in between –_ She opened her eyes suddenly to the vivid image of Khal's hand crawling up her leg. She sank lower in the tub trying to hide. He had left his impression on her and it made her shiver. Dilawar's words came to her mind confusing her more. Even if she could fully understand what he meant she did not know how to go about his advice. She could not predict Khal's reactions, he was a savage animal, living after rules he alone created. Her eyes fell on the water again; it had stilled and she could see her own reflection, a bit blurred, but it was there. Pale face, long strands of wet hair stuck to her temples, slim neck and small bony shoulders. She reached forward slowly not to disturb the image. She smiled, quick and short as if a ghost had escaped her lips, one moment there, one moment gone. Ortezza had never been the advice giving kind, but every now and then his words spoke more wisdom than the scholars in Uyack. _Did you really have to punch him?_ She remembered admonishing him for hitting a drunken soldier. _Well, he hit me first! He only got what he gave!_ He got what he gave… _he got what he gave…_ She moved her hand slightly and the water rippled a bit. She fought him, she ignored him, she didn't look happy with anything he did or said and always had something to comment about his remarks. She got what she gave. She startled with her realization and her face lit. But it was soon gone. Her doubts of why she was there and why she even cared took over again. It was all about their alliance; she wasn't there to please him but to keep the peace treaty in force. _But he doesn't know!_ She fell back in the tub remembering of her deception, who she really was and who he thought she was. _For life_… He thought it was for life. She covered her face with her palms and water dripped from her elbows back in the tub.

The door opened and she didn't even hear it. But then she saw him standing there, watching her with his usual predator eyes. _It's what you get for being so stupid and mellow!_ She got up rapidly, reaching clumsily for the veil. But his foot was there before her hand and she forced her head up to look at him, shadowing her and her shy attempt to cover herself. She pulled back immediately hiding in the water, but the treacherous ripples barely blurred the image of her. Khal took a step closer almost resting his knees on the side of the bath tub and ordered her without even looking down.

"Undress me." It infuriated her on the spot. She took a moment thinking whether she should fight him or not. He always won at the end of each struggle, but she at least gave him a hard time and it helped her live through the day. She saw her reflection again, distorted and angry. She remembered her wisdom from moments before and took a deep breath in. The water stilled again and her image became clearer and so did her eyes.

She got up slowly staring ahead then turned to face him, without granting him a look. Khal's eyes flickered for a short fraction, not knowing what to expect from her unusual obedience. Leora stopped, her face inches away from his chest and it took all her might to keep her regard straight when he lowered his eyes on her. She felt it; a faint scent of wine coming from his lips and she quivered inside. His mouth remained sealed and the scent disappeared but she was still left in the dark as to her own plans with him. They remained as they were for a few precious moments. Her hands finally reached for his arms and in a blink of reason she couldn't understand why she went for his nakedness where there was nothing to take off. Her palms landed softly on the hard muscles and she was taken aback by the warmth of his skin now sieving through her pores, turning her hands into funnels, absorbing him, pouring that strength of his into her body. She swallowed in drily; his lips parted and the sweet scent of wine invaded her nostrils again. She looked at him, barely breathing as if her own breathing on his face might stir something inside him. The thick eyelashes cast shadows on the mild green, clouding his vision and it drugged her to see him stare like that, caught in between consciousness and oblivion. She heard the hoarse growl deep in his throat and the air pushing through his nostrils crept in her hair, giving her the goose bumps down her arms and legs. The predator was lurking inside, slightly dozed by the wine vapors and she recognized its treacherous nature. Before she could reach down for his belt, his palms caged her waist, sliding down, dominantly, until his large palms cupped her buttocks squeezing tight and she lost balance landing on his chest and he fed on the sensation of her wet body stuck on his. Her hot breath sent bolts of fire through his stomach and down into his groin. He pulled harder, pushing her up his body and she hurried to grab onto his shoulders afraid to let go and fight him when she didn't have both feet on the ground.

She smudged the blue drawings on his shoulders in her struggle to regain her stand and in the chaos of their situation she found her fingers curling in the back of his head, pulling on the braided hair and he seized his movements on her to appreciate her bravery. She blocked; she was lost. Her eyes closed unable to admit to yet another defeat; all of her efforts of making things right, of keeping the situation under control failed miserably since the day she'd met him.

No matter what she did, it seemed she couldn't win this battle.

She let go and with her fingers, she smeared his shoulders, spreading the blue paint further on his skin. He saw her take a step back in the tub, naked, with flourishing breasts and soft skin and water still dripping from between her thighs and he could think of nothing more sensual and erotic than this image of her. He saw the remains of his markings on her and glanced at his shoulders to see the damage she'd caused. He grind his teeth; beyond revenge and the want to show her place – yet again – there was desire, unleashed lust for her and he didn't have the force to reject it this time. With his mind wrapped in foggy blankets and the taste of wine still lingering on his lips he ripped his coverings off and almost tore loose the belt in his attempt to get naked fast. Leora swallowed in drily. _Mighty Powers…_ if her heart could tremble than it would've. Her stomach seemed to form a knot and she bent forward a bit shrinking before him, in an attempt to become invisible. But his hand was on her; his fingers grabbed her hair from the back of her head and pulled hard, forcing her down on her knees. She bruised her leg as she fell, but managed to take a grip on the metal edge, stretching her neck as much as she could under the pressure. She gasped but immediately panicked seeing his intention. She jolted her head back and he lost his hold on her; she fell in the tub with water splashing on the marble floor; the flames of the candles flickered frightened and shy. But he didn't let go, twisting the long chestnut strands around his fist to pull her back. She screamed and tried to kick him with her legs; she slipped, going under and Khal bent quickly to bring her to the surface. She took a deep noisy breath and next moment she was back on her knees, with water in her mouth and eyes, still choking from the dive. She heard him groan; she couldn't see. Water came down her face, her eyelids had become heavy with the hair stuck on them and she tried to shake her head and free herself from the burden. But he wouldn't allow it, guiding her head to his groin and she gave up on seeing and focused on pushing with her hands on his legs to keep away. She seemed to fight an iron clutch; her palms slid on his sweaty skin and he pulled harder on her hair. She screamed again but it died instantly when she felt her own breath ricocheting on his flesh. She sensed the slight warm touch on her cheek; she stilled. It touched her again and she gasped; at the same time he released a muffled groan staring at her refusing to please him. His cock pulsated painfully and each mild touch of her skin on him caused burning random spots across his shoulder blades and in his lower back and he couldn't stand it anymore. He forced her head around hoping she wouldn't be able to avoid it, but she shook her head so violently she almost escaped him again. She opened her eyes, enough to see the edges of the bath tub and she pushed on them to stand up but it was in vain. Khal bent his knees a bit and with his other free hand took his cock and guided it to her lips. She struggled relentlessly; her scalp hurt, her knees were sore and she needed to breathe. Her lips parted and she felt the sweet taste enveloping the tip. He pushed in slowly and she scrambled for one last fighting chance when she felt her mouth filling with his length. It choked her. He retracted and went back in again, so fast she barely drew a breath in between.

Khal felt his knees weaken. No woman had caused him to fall but this one was. His legs trembled with the effort of bending and his mind was seared with the image of her pinkish lips folded around him and the water dripping down on her breasts and into her belly button. He let go. Leora fell back again breathing hard and as soon as she refilled her lungs with the much needed force, she sped out of the tub, falling on the wet floor. Her knees sent bolts of pain into her hips; she crawled for a few feet looking over her shoulder fearfully. He was coming for her and she got on all fours to support her body up when he caught her ankle. She twisted kicking him, but he caught her other leg too; she looked like a fish on dry land, battling for her life. Khal lost his balance and fell to his knees, but he never lost track of her and his purpose. He was enraged and he was crazed with wanting her. He turned on his back bringing her on top; they were wet and sweaty, he found it hard to get a grip on her body so he came up, scooping her in his arms. Her knees slid on the floor, getting stuck to his thighs when he pushed her hands to the back, cuffing them with his own. Now she was caught in between his chest and his knees, her hands tied behind her back, his manhood rubbing against her clit and she felt like screaming her impotence. She bent forward, avoiding his eyes, but he wasn't interested in looking at her. He wasn't interested in making a point anymore. Only in having her. He kept her prisoner but freed one hand to position himself inside of her and when she felt him entering she screamed biting him on the shoulder. Khal groaned ruthlessly forcing her back where he could sink his teeth under her ear lobe. Her eyes opened wide staring at the ceiling that seemed to move with her, with each constant thrust of his hips. He was too deep, so deep it hurt her. She escaped his mouth, falling back on his knees and he took advantage hunting for her breasts. It didn't matter it wasn't his manner of making love. It didn't matter he never made love. This, now – she and her body – mattered and he was going at it blindly. In the back of his mind he felt ignored in his animal hunger for her, his pride was taking the toll of his sexual desire and he wanted her pride to be just as damaged. Humiliation for humiliation.

He released her hands letting his body rest back on the floor, stretching his legs and she was confused with so much unexpected freedom. She looked at him for a long silent moment. Her neck bore the mark of his teeth and his eyes fired with the pleasure of recognizing that sign of his possession on her. His hands sneaked up her thighs, forcing her body to rock gently on top of him and it baffled her. She fell forth with her palms wide open on his chest and gasped for air when she felt him moving inside her, one circle after another and she was unable to break the spell of his eyes on her. He needed no bonds, no force, no restraints to keep her prisoner and that thought panicked her. Khal saw the fright in her eyes, felt her body go rigid. The wine had evaporated leaving his senses clean and sharp and it helped him bring her where he wanted. He deepened his thumbs in her flesh right above the hip bone and she hurt, hurrying to retreat, grabbing on his hands to stop him. Her body was revealed, unprotected and to his mercy. He ignored her hold and adjusted his palms on her thighs forcing her down on him, left to right, back and forth, in such a tight embrace, there was no room in between their bodies. His cock was completely embedded in her core and she felt him slam in her inner walls. She screamed at first, her hands abandoned his, trying to find something to hold on to. There was nothing else other than his knees behind her and she grabbed on them desperately. Khal pulled on her body again, harder this time, almost bringing himself out of her and then pushed her back up, and it tore through her. Her head fell back and Khal's lips dried with the thirst to drink from her breasts bouncing roughly in the rhythm of their love making. She cried again and he recognized her cry as something different. Pleasure – pleasure digging in her womb with each slide of her lips on his skin, with each touch of his rough hair on her clit. She scratched him with her fingernails in an attempt to keep her body steady, leaving long fiery marks on his calves, but he didn't care.

Leora knew it was coming and she closed her eyes, in an effort to focus and delay it; not to give him the pleasure of having her this way. Khal felt her legs squeeze him harder and knew she was ready. His belly muscles packed with the tension of his body rising to embrace her; she let go of his knees coming forth to reject him and he didn't expect it. Their hands clenched in combat as she pushed him back on the floor and he couldn't help a fugitive smile facing this last defense of hers. Still, he liked to win his battles. He brought his arms up, putting them under his head, with her hands still caught in his and she collapsed on his chest, their faces so close their breaths mingled. It would have been so easy to kiss her; but he did not want to. He had avoided it since their first night; something in her kiss made him lose self control, made him fall for her sweetness; made him succumb. His hips pushed inside hers again and she fought him; and by all the Shadows and Mighty Powers together, no woman had stirred him so much! Her breasts rubbed against his chest and she felt the roughness of his skin against her belly. Her shoulders hurt with how extended her joints were as she stood hung on him. He kept sliding into her, faster, steady, but faster and her hair fell on his shoulder; the cold touch caused the charcoal in him to ignite again. She hit inside her roughly and she gasped for the air coming out of his lips as if she borrowed his strength to hold on. He did it again, all the way into the depth of her womb and the painful muscles in her neck gave in; her face came lower and her cheek molded onto his in defeat. The discrete perfume of her skin invaded his nostrils and his brain numbed with the scent; his eyes stared blankly, his hands released hers, sliding down her back, embracing the tiny sweaty body on him. She didn't move; in her stillness she felt his body ripple beneath her. His hands came up, cupping her face, sinking his eyes in hers and her lips were an undeniable invitation to sin. He swallowed in, starving himself, staring at their softness. Leora gave in to his hypnotic eyes and when he moved again she pushed down on him gently, helping him to bring both their ordeal to an end. Their faces came closer, each breath was steamy and burnt them; she felt the sudden urge to trace the scar on his eye with the tip of her tongue and the thought blinded her. The faster he moved the harder his arms hugged her body, the tighter her fingers pulled on his hair. Khal pushed on his legs, penetrating her at a speed that took their breath away. Leora screamed in the lock of his arms arching above him, with her thighs imprisoned by his thrusts and Khal followed her, hiding his face in the crook of her neck, keeping her hips still for him to release his seed in her savagely. He growled, suffocated and long against her neck and the sound of his climax made hers painful, and she squirmed in his arms, welcoming it.

It hurt lying back on the floor. Everything hurt. Leora closed her eyes, lying on his chest - and only then did she realize there were tears pooling underneath the eyelids. She sobbed almost unheard. Khal remained motionless, listening to her heart beat. There was no more strength left in his veins. He had forgotten about humiliating her. Only his lips pulsated still with the desire to kiss her.

No matter what he did, it seemed he couldn't win this battle.

** w**

He pressed on the material one more time to make sure there were no folds left. His attire had to be impeccable. His best jewelry had been placed in a carved wooden chest, resting on the table. He had packed two pair of shoes – more than he needed for a man of little fashion, but this was a rare encounter and he felt the need to care for his looks more than the usual. Jorah took a step back taking a careful look at the cape; satisfactory. The moon shone brightly through the open window making the thick gold chain sparkle in its chalky light. The emeralds and rubies melted spreading colorful rays across the refined texture of his ceremonial clothes. It had been a while since he had been so preoccupied with a delegation and as such he indulged in taking care of every detail of his journey the following day.

The night was still young but he sensed it in the marrow of his spine; old age was catching up with him and his young spirit craved for more time. A short coughing and he bent placing his hands on the chair before him to confront the new wave of pain. But it didn't come. Perhaps this ounce of happiness he had tasted earlier in the day caused his illness to break its rampage. He took a deep breath in; considering the little time he had, he managed to arrange almost the entire trip and he was content with the outcome. A pain in his ribs and the thread of his thoughts got tore again. He cleared his throat, ignoring the need to cough and slowly went to bed. It was covered in moonlight. He looked at the white sheets shining under the silvery touch and foresaw a peaceful night. He pushed the covers aside and lay on his back, making sure he covered his feet. He never left his window open, fearing the wind and the chill of the night, but tonight it was too beautiful to hide away so he made sure he was well tucked in and when all of his bony old self was safely wrapped in blankets, he looked outside, past the white curtains. The faint sounds in the market made it across the walls of the palace and he enjoyed them spreading in the air as if the recently found joy of his people was pleasing the Gods. The curtains moved slightly with the visit of the wind, showing more of the full moon hanging like a midnight sun high above, on the ceiling of his ancestors.

He saw it with the corner of his eye; the little note, feeling the touch of the wind. He had placed it on a corner of the little table at the side of his bed. The invitation was tucked securely in the pocket of his vest, ready to accompany him the following morning. But that – that little note, contained more important words than the permission of the Khal. It held meanings he had secretly craved for, simple words of deep purpose that filled hidden desires he never had the courage to name.

He reached with his hand gently to place his ring on top of it and keep it from being blown away by the gusts of wind. It resisted his touch at first but then the little paper rested under the weight of the precious metal. The emerald stone sent vibes of vivid green across the handwriting. Jorah turned his head away from it and closed his eyes; he needed not read them again. They were carved in his mind forever.

** w**

Her knees hurt but the bruises were yet to show; still she did welcome a few scratches on the side of her knee caps and her palms. It hurt between her legs, like most times after his visits. But the more she got used to this new pain the more she realized it caused her an incredibly unfamiliar feeling of belonging; of belonging to him for he alone was the cause of all her sinful pleasure. She slid her hand between her thighs touching above the pubic bone but she stopped in time, ashamed with her own gesture. She could feel the lips to her core pulsating with their earlier love making; swollen, and every move she made sparked small electric shocks, making her curl her legs and regain her motionless position.

It had been a while since he'd left her. No servants were sent to clean the water from the floor or to empty the bath tub. No servants came to braid her hair or massage her feet. No servants came to prepare her for bed. A few small remaining puddles on the floor reflected the image in her mind, of their naked bodies rolling in the water, sliding on the marble with their golden skin against the cold white. Her eyes emptied of all other details and filled with that vibrant memory of them and, from the top of the bed where she rested, it looked as if there was nothing wrong with her memory. Two bodies tangled, legs curling, hands holding, skin touching… She closed her eyes and she felt dizzy. She fell back on the pillows still holding tight to the veils she had thrown on her soon after he had left. She could feel his smell on her and he didn't have a smell, but somehow her senses had picked on it and now she could detect it on her skin, on her lips. She touched her lips and her heart skipped a beat in a dissimulated disappointment. He had not kissed her; he had not kissed her at all since their first night, but he was so close, so many times it hurt her remembering how much he'd made her want it. His smell – like magic powder neglectfully sprinkled on her lips and she licked them in turn as if she could feed on his scent.

She was tired, but numb. He had bleached her mind and she couldn't form a coherent thought in her head. She was tired, maybe she needed some sleep. The big day was almost there; the day when she'd finally see her Jorah, a familiar face. Her fourth father after the bastard who'd left her and the two that had adopted her. An unexpected protector in whom she recognized the need for love, for he had so much to give so it must've been that he wished to receive just as much. _Daddy…_ tears once more when she thought there were none left. What a distant notion, what a strange word. Flashes of her childhood mingled with her recent memories and her mind got confused trying to create the image of a father; her father. Captain Dascara's piercing eyes looked at her lovingly resting above the tall cheek bones of the Mad King as they had been depicted in the paintings in Pentos, the mild dry lips of her first adoptive father, all of them enveloped in the pale skin of Jorah Mormont. Glass from a broken mirror. Leora cried without a sound.

Khal was giving her a taste of his strength, showing her he had what it took to protect her and as the nights came and went she felt him closer, yet distant and she wished she could count on his strength to defend her when she couldn't. He had weakened her defenses and it upset her, knowing that at the end of the day, she only had herself to protect. She had seen Khal delivering justice to his subjects; she remembered how she had got there and that beyond and above everything else, this entire charade, Alchantar's plans for revenge and the court games in Pentos – both Khal and her were there because of the same reason; looking after their people. Looking after those they cared for and she knew Jorah would understand best her loyalty to her kind, but foremost, to him.

She did not know what to write; she had written pages then had torn them to shreds. Then she only wrote a word that was not enough. Same thoughts overwhelmed her as in the day she had written the note. For what mattered, time tore through the plans of men as it saw fit and words cut deep, bleeding people dry. Only faith remained; faith that time could also mend, faith that words could also heal. And faith was what made Jorah knock on her door that fateful morning in Uyack; and she wouldn't have made it without his guidance.

Oblivious, but happy, she rested her eyes; her chest went up and down with a soft peaceful breath and from behind closed eyelids she saw the bright light of the afternoon sun taking over the darkness of her sleep. Her hand had been shaking as she scrambled the words quickly, afraid not to be caught. Dilawar had waited for her to finish then had slipped the note in the envelope. Their secret was locked away in his eyes and she knew it'd stay there. As she was handing him the paper, the note had lit with the passing of the rays through it revealing the message of her heart drawn in letters.

_**My dear Jorah,**_

_**For what is worth, time passes, words hurt but faithfulness remains. **_

_**Leora.**_

**My dear, dear readers, I have been a terrible writer lately. I had so much stuff happening in my life – up and down and up and down – that I couldn't find a steady mood to write. It is very important to approach writing at the right time otherwise it can be affected by my mood and I have a rather beautiful story line for this and I wouldn't want to mess it because of a bad day. It happened before. If any of you ever read _Death is just another beginning_ there was a chapter in there that I had planned totally different and just because I came home after a heavy duty day at work, the whole chapter got a new meaning and I had readers coming up with comments like "wow, I didn't expect that!" I was like yeah, me neither! Haha That wasn't in the plan!**

**BUT, I am on the right track and I promise the next chapter is coming soon! We have to get back on schedule the way I like it! **

**So thanks so much for all your support, those who kept adding it to favorites and commenting that you want me to update – I am with you! Sorry! **

**So… I hope you didn't lose track of the story line – I know that can happen when people don't update soon (ugly me in this case hehe) and that you'll stick around to the end!**

**MUAH and hope to hear from you soon guys!**

**Mela**


	17. Chap 16 - At the crack of Dawn

**At the crack of dawn**

_**A week before the banquette**_

His head was spinning; he pulled the chair slowly, dragging the wood on the concrete floor without minding the sound and sat down to rest his tired skinny body. His knees were trembling worse than his hands and he couldn't control it; he didn't care either for he had bigger concerns on his mind. He could hear the chit chatter of the small gathering behind him. The ghosts of their bodies spread across the floor casting secretive shadows on his back. He was cold; perhaps the chill of the late night. He glanced at the fire burning in the far corner of the room but its warmth didn't seem to reach him. He looked at his white hands and placed them slowly on the knees to make the tremor go away but it didn't help much.

"… he cannot be controlled and…"

"… he is the tool to be used on her!..."

" …I wouldn't go that far, it makes no sense to take such drastic measures against one of our own…"

"He is not one of our own!"

Sir Lorday's voice caught everyone's attention in the room and the gossip and small planning ceased at once. Frowning eyes and pale worried faces turned to look at him as he calmly poured a glass of wine. From his chair Esther smoldered with a sparkle of rage. Lorday always tried to be an example and he always ended beaten and subdued. _What are you trying to do, you fool!_

"I hear all of your concerns and your fears and they are justified, believe me; for I have been there and have seen the influence and power Jorah Mormont has and has sought to gain by bringing this bastard child on the throne. _Our_ throne!" He took a deep breath giving himself time to find the right words that would tackle the nobles in the very spot where they were most vulnerable; their egos.

"He has gained more than that, young master! The gold of the palace is now filling his pockets!" the tall man of an impressive stature but small presence spoke hard spitting his stinking saliva around through the wholes of his missing teeth. Lorday swallowed in disgust.

"I very well know that, my Lord Kazam. But, in truth, my lords, this should be the least of our concerns!"

"Least of our concerns?" Kazam reddened with fury and his bear shaped body swung forth making the small weapons he carried around the huge belt clink, making the others take a step back. "I wake up every single day with this _concern_ on my mind! One man is not suited to have all the power and all the riches! We have earned our names and we have earned our right to benefit from all of it as well! What makes Jorah Mormont, a court monk, a scavenger in other people's trash better than me!?"

"Better than us!" another barrel of a man, but at least a foot shorter intervened to remind his brother in plot that they had all gathered there for the same purpose.

"Us, us!" the echoes of the bear man's words made them all nod, more or less convinced.

From his corner Esther felt a sting in his stomach and the burnt continued climbing up his chest and into his throat. _This is not right!_ Lorday made him sick with his alluring eyes and cunning words; he was trying to make tools out of these men, tools to use in his personal vendetta against Mormont. He too had his unfinished business with the councilor; and back when he was in his prime, he had taken on the King's right hand fearlessly. Still, after the death of his wife and the ruin of his family, his interest in being part of the court life and battling Jorah before the King, had gone. His eyes lowered again, observing his hands silently. They had stopped shaking and he stared at them impotently. A few of the nobles glanced at him suspiciously and he turned his head away to keep the doubt in his eyes hidden from them.

"Lord Esther! You stand quiet." But the old noble continued to ignore them. "You should have more cause to be here than any of us. Maybe you have forgotten."

"There is nothing to forget my lords." Esther faced them slowly still seated. He had no intention to explain himself in front of these beggars for fame. "Nor to forgive."

Lorday's eyes sparkled subtly and in the small shadows cast by the playful flames, they appeared to be the eyes of a snake. Esther looked away; the young man made him uncomfortable. He did not wish to remember; he just wanted to appreciate what he had, for the little time he had it. That was all that ever mattered.

"The man is right, Lyrus. And Mormont cannot possibly be forgiven for what he had done to you."

"What do you know about forgiveness?" his voice rose suddenly taking even him aback. Lord Esther got up pushing the chair aside; his body was invaded with a rush he had not known for years. Yet it wasn't the feeling Lorday thought it was. It wasn't rage or the desire for vengeance. It was longing, and longing did not leave any room for hate. "Jorah did not do me wrong."

"He stole your woman from under your nose!"

"I married that woman!"

"You married leftovers of what you loved! A broken hearted woman left behind by your friend… none other than Jorah Mormont."

Esther turned away unnerved and annoyed with where the conversation was heading. He had not planned for the evening to go that way. He had not expected any of Lorday's plans pouring on him so heavily.

"It was fair competition and he won. She loved him more."

"She was just as selfish as he was!"

"Don't you dare talk about her! Don't you dare say her name and taint her memory!" and Lyrus Esther had never sounded more menacing in his life; or perhaps it had been so long since he had shown some courage that he couldn't remember. "We both loved her and she chose him."

Lorday took a moment to measure his words, pleasantly surprised to see a shadow of resilience in Esther after all these years of silence and solitude.

"He used her and then threw her away, like rags. And you were there to pick the rags, clean them and care for them as if they were new clothes."

"You know nothing! Leave me alone!" Esther grabbed his cloak and hurried towards the door, passing by the handful of nobles watching this wicked game in fascination.

"Esther! We are not done here." But the old man didn't seem to care and rushed to open the door. 'We have all vowed allegiance to this cause. We're all involved now."

"I have never agreed to this! Not to _this!_ Your plans are outrageous and your scheming is evil." Esther turned around, shaking; he felt his old joints failing him with the rush of adrenaline taking over his impotent body. "Jorah Mormont is a worthy opponent, a bright man with a healthy understanding of our home and of this land! Too healthy perhaps for his own good. He respected Farah and let her go." His voice died out abruptly, remembering. He closed the door, backing up against it, with his fists clenched on the cloak.

They were young, they were competing; everything was a duel and both of them were winners, one way or another. So it had grown between them; this friendship and companionship, for many years; until she came along and their lives were changed forever. Friends had turned to enemies and over night the games had to be played using lethal weapons, sharp words and cunning threats. Jorah was the outspoken one; relentless and intrusive, witty and sneaky. He won her over with his words and wildness. He had stood aside, seeing her fall for him and he retreated in his shell, where he felt more comfortable. He too was a clever lad, but had a hard time finding the words to express himself and his calmness was not so attractive – or so it seemed.

Jorah had her; he had taken her with him wherever he went, in all of his missions outside the walls of Pentos, in his unstoppable quest for more. More victories, more knowledge, more of everything and anything, He was like blotting paper, absorbing information, growing stronger; and the stronger he grew the more insatiable he was. But not Farah; a few years later she had had enough of always being on the road, of never settling for a home; she was sick of just learning and bringing peace to others. Jorah was an excellent diplomat, but was awful when it came to bringing peace in his own home. Still he had proposed. She had refused; she did not want his kind of life.

Esther sighed from the bottom of his heart, releasing the cloak so he can put it on his shoulders. She had returned to Pentos leaving Jorah behind to attend to his ambassador duties abroad. She loved him, but she wanted something else and Jorah knew it. He had been there for her when she needed him and now Farah was his wife. And the years had gone by and they finally met; old enemies and even older friends. An awkward moment; years of untold frustration and unanswered questions, but it didn't matter anymore. His relationship with Jorah had been mended but never fully recovered. The imprudent councilor was still in love with his wife and he had to live with it; with the fact that he had praised more his work than a future with a woman who loved him and wanted to bare his children. And lonely he would be in his quest, young Jorah Mormont.

Lyrus nodded the strings to the cloak and opened the door again, with tears in his eyes.

"You know nothing. You know nothing." The door closed slowly behind him and Lorday was left silent in the middle of the room with all eyes set on him. A moment later he met the nobles' regard and their thoughts mingled following the same direction. Esther was weak, emotional and his past was making him crumble in the face of a harsher reality than he wanted to see. Lorday looked away towards the door as if he could still feel the old man's presence. Then groaned unhappily, but barely heard.

"My dear lords, it seems we must rely on ourselves for now. I am sure Lord Esther will reconsider his place with us."

But none of those present answered his words. He waited. Finally an insecure voice replied.

"If we want Khal Drogo dead, we cannot do it without Mormont. He's the only one who can convince her to help us."

"Don't utter such nonsense, Kazam. He doesn't want him dead. Drogo is his watch dog against us. It is her that we must speak with and speak we shall."

"She is out of our reach."

"I hear the Dothraki are celebrating the new alliance in a week from now. Jorah Mormont was invited."

"And how would you know that?" The blunt question asked so impolitely, irritated Lorday.

"Perhaps we are not living in the same city, or perhaps some of us are not as interested in the welfare of our home as I am, otherwise I could not explain why I am the only one holding such information!" He paced away to pour more wine. "A messanger arrived at the court today. I have specifically asked that all messages coming to the palace are accounted for."

"And why would Drogo be so careless and send an invitation out in the open, without precautions that it might fall in the wrong hands?"

"He fears no one. He believes he has no reason to hide his intentions." Lorday took a sip, with his eyes checking through the room as if he was looking for something. "We should accept his invitation."

"Are you mad? Any such attempt would lead us to certain death!"

"We would only follow Jorah and honor his extended invitation to us."

"Extended invitation? Do you take Drogo for a fool?" Kazma seemed unstoppable.

"Kazma!" The nobles took a short breath of air and fell back facing the harsh resonance in Lorday's voice. "I was there when this alliance was forged; surely Drogo will have nothing against Mormont coming together with a few of his men. He does not expect an old man like him to travel alone, for a week, out there in the wilderness!"

"But you are not one of his men!"

"Indeed; but he doesn't know that." Lorday drank the wine so fast as if it was water and once empty he turned the cup upside down waiting for the last drop to fall to the floor. He then smudged it across the marble with his foot. "Nor will Jorah be able to contradict me." His eyes went up suddenly, piercing in the fat man's eyes like icy blades. "Will he?"

**WWWWWWWWWW**

_**The evening of the banquette**_

Her breathing got lost in the dance of sounds, music and voices rising from the garden, but to her it sounded so loud that she tried to control her heart beat to slow down so her lungs don't feel the need to breathe so noisily and hard. She kept looking, like thieves hiding in dark corners; she had never witnessed such spectacle before. The poverty of her home in Uyack, the little games they played and the decency of their festivals had enchanted her for years and she thought there could be nothing else better out there. Then she saw Pentos and its majestic houses, the large porches and carved entries, the expensive furniture and magnificent gardens. The opulence of the rich, the refined clothing and the glittering chandeliers hanging above their heads. And she thought she had seen it all. Yet, there she was with a new world lying before her eyes and she felt like taking her shoes off to join them and sink her feet in the warm sand.

She had wondered at the contrasts in Drogo's home. High ceilings painted with the battles of his forefathers in bright vivid colors, with golden columns, spiraling along the massive wooden doors; marble floors crossed by black and gold serpents glittering in the sun. But the windows were naked, no curtains ever stopped the wind from coming in, there was barely any furniture, only the council's tall mahogany chairs and a few small tables for the servants to serve the wine. Her bedroom alone had been furnished more to her liking, to remind her of home. Still, in its bareness and lack of style, this place appealed to her in its brute simplicity. It was made in Khal's image, a man of few words, but of great desires and obvious ego.

The garden had been redecorated and adorned for the occasion. Sand had been brought from the beach to cover the patios and the few trees kept alive by constant watering were crowned with lit oil lamps, moving gently with each gust of wind like curtains of stars hanging above the guests' heads. Large leather cushions had been placed randomly across the garden almost all the way to the edge of the cliff, with small tables, looking more like wooden boxes, covered with plates of food and bottles of wine.

He stood with his back at her, on a wooden pedestal especially made for him, covered in carpets, with oil lamps flickering on all sides to light his way up and down the three steps they've built before his throne. Leora looked at the blue drawings on his shoulder and she shivered a bit. It was too dark for her to see the faces of the people who were slowly moving through the yard. A servant passed her by quickly, without realizing who she was. A moment later he drew back a step and fell to his knees still holding the tray with the grapes intended for the Khal.

"Khaleesi, forgive me! I –"

Leora gestured fast as if his imprudent gesture might have give her presence away. But the man remained with his head down still apologizing to his mistress.

"No, no –" Dilawar interrupted her.

"My Khaleesi." Leora turned around abruptly, pulling on her dress nervously. "It is time." His eyes fell on her hands and she immediately stopped folding the material. She glanced over her shoulder hoping to see a familiar face in the crowd, but she was too thrilled and agitated to make sense of what she was seeing.

"Yes." She turned around blankly, staring at the porch floor, knowing that she must step outside her hide out and reveal herself as the wife of the Khal and Queen of Pentos and she had no desire to do so. This would be her first appearance at his side since she'd come there and sitting at his side in public seemed harder than having to face him in between the walls of her bedroom. Dilawar signaled the servant to leave and he stood up immediately disappearing in the garden.

She kept her eyes set on the wooden floor as she went out, one step at a time and only when she crossed the threshold did she look at the shoes of all the guests paired up alongside the railing. She hadn't noticed that and she quickly remembered her desire to walk barefoot in the sand. She used her heal to take the shoes off and cast them aside with a kick.

"Khaleesi!" Dilawar hurried behind her, to salvage them before getting lost among the dozen other pairs and put them back on her feet. "Khaleesi, not you! You must not!" He grabbed her foot trying to fit the shoe before anyone noticed this small disturbance.

"Why not me?"

"Because – because you are the Khaleesi!"

Leora shook her foot struggling to take it back but Dilawar had no problem in ending her fight short.

"You're hurting me." He stopped and looked her in the eyes. Her voice was so plain her eyes so humored he almost smiled. But he didn't; he was a Dothraki and knew his place before his masters. He went on trying to get her attire look proper for a queen.

"Dilawar, I want to walk barefoot. Like the other guests." Dilawar started on the left leg. "Like Leora would." His hand dropped gently to the floor. She had gotten used to his long moments of silence and thought. He finally set the shoe aside and helped her take the right one off after all he'd endured to put it back on. He got up bowing.

"I will be right behind you."

Leora nodded and started walking to the stair case that led down to the sandy patio. Heads turned as she came closer until the music and the guests were all aware of her presence. Dilawar remained tall and imposing behind her and with his hoarse ragged voice announced her loud and clear.

"Bow! For the Moon following our Sun is here! Bow! And receive her shine upon you! Bow! For she is sacred among us as she is for our ancestors!" The Dothraki fell to their knees, forehead buried in the sand; it took a little while for Illyrio Mopatis' men to do the same. She didn't recognize any of them, but the faces looked familiar. Where could he be… Illyrio had sent his apologies to the Khal a few days before. He was unable to come caught in between doing his job and replacing her on the Throne of Westeros. But he had sent word that Jorah would represent both of them. Instead he had sent his men, covering the steps of Khal's palace with riches, gold and fine tapestries. Yet Jorah was nowhere to be seen; at least for now. She stepped lightly down the stairs and when her feet finally sank in the sand she felt a slight relief, when she shouldn't have for the hard part of her journey was just beginning.

All eyes stared at the ground she was stepping on. It made her heart skip a beat with every single grain of Dothraki sand her feet fell on; until she reached his throne and everything else faded away. Her lips parted and for a moment she wanted to gasp, like young girls peaking secretly at the soldiers in the barracks. With wide open eyes and short breath, a sting in the chest and complete oblivion in their heads; for she was staring at his emerald eyes, so deep and hypnotizing painted in tar black powder. She would have never thought a man's skin could look so appealing. She looked away embarrassed with ever thinking she'd like to run the tip of her tongue on that caramel skin, along his jaw line and sink her teeth in his harsh black beard. And it was her jaw that trembled now and she felt stupid and caught. His eyes came to life and pierced through her temples; despite Dilawar's commanding voice, he had not heard her coming. His mind was elsewhere, trapped in feelings he could not understand and neither the music nor the cheering around him could make him focus and be a host to his guests. But now that she stood before him, the image of her long chestnut hair, slowly caressed by the hands of the wind, with her lean figure and clear eyes made him wake from his journey far away. But she looked astray and his tenebrous thoughts returned. She was omnipresent in his thoughts; somehow everything he did and everything he said revolved around her and he craved for freedom from her and her alluring body and soft candid lips. His eyes fell on those lips and his jaw blocked, locking in stubbornness to such sign of weakness on his part. He waited for Dilawar to show her the smaller throne next to him and she bowed remaining so until she sat at his side. In a way, he enjoyed the landscape before him, without her before his eyes; but her presence at his side burnt him and he withdraw a little as if the warmth in her body could reach his arm and hurt him.

In the dark, small black pebbles glowed eerily, hidden behind small leaves fretting in the night breeze. They moved fast and constant, surveying everything. Finally, they settled on the couple now facing each other before the crowd. Khal seemed undeterred by her presence and Leora played her role to the letter. The guests applauded and praised their leaders and hosts. It was time for the night to burn and the flames rose high in the air, lighting the skies; and among the shadows, Alchantar Wolof's face bloomed with a smile.

**WWWWWWWWWW**

It was late at night; so late the skies had lit with burning candles above the sea, so many and so beautiful; she had witnessed this richness of the godly chandeliers before in Uyack. But it rarely ever happened with the forests around always sending their mists up above the old trees. And the lights of Pentos took the shine away from these small fires burning in the sky. She stared, supporting her weight against the window frame; soon they will die out with the first light of dawn. She had to sit down even though simply sitting down so far had been exhausting. Leora, crawled along the wall, enjoying the fresh air of the night entering the open windows of the throne hall. She found her chair next to his and allowed her body to fall heavily in it and relax. Being at his side for hours always having to cope with his demanding eyes on her and everyone else's small chatter had drained her. She knew what they thought of her and their obedient attitude now was just a front. It upset her; she closed her eyes and sank back further in the chair. She stretched her legs with a sigh. _Forget you Khal Drogo… this is my time now…I need it…_ No rules; just for a moment to draw her breath before going back to being his Khaleesi. She was tired and she was worried. Jorah hadn't come; her eyes opened again staring painfully this time. The bluish light of the night mingled with the chalk of the moon and soothed the wrinkles in her forehead. Slowly, she leaned back in the chair. Jorah would have never missed this; if not for her, for him. He was too good of a man and too great of an ambassador not to know that this was a rare occasion and it was a must to take advantage of it. So she worried; _you worry me_. She…

Her breath calmed down, in a slow tempo, her chest rising with the pace of her heart beating. The murmur of the sea seemed to come to her rescue smoothing her way into the land of dreams. It felt as if she had labored the land all day; her neck muscles hurt from the tension of always keeping the right posture, the right smile, the right look. Her pupils struggled behind the closed eyelids, for just an instant, then nothing. Her arm fell numb on the side, her head slipped slowly towards the shoulder, resting in an uncomfortable position, but she just needed a moment to herself, that was all, regardless of the discomfort.

He sat motionless and quiet, in the dark. His fists sealing his lips as he rested his elbows on the knees. She was a nymph, an illusion alluring him in the mists of danger and death. There he was, sitting in the throne hall of the greatest chieftain of them all, who against their fragile alliance could turn into his worst enemy in a blink of an eye if he only knew… what he craved for. Her head came to the side and the silvery moon light made her features deepen in shadows, her rosy lips look plumper and irresistible. What sweet curves… and thinking Khal had had it all; he grinded his teeth behind the closed fists. He got up slowly, against his own will which acted more like a shield than anything else, but despite all warnings he stepped softly towards the middle of the room. He glanced over his shoulder at the open doors. The crowds outside were growing wild with the wine flowing through their veins and the music going faster and faster, forcing them to fall for the savage rhythm. Nobles and wild men alike fell victims to the drums and the violins, to the ancestral voices of the old singers of the Dothraki tribe. It made his heart beat faster; and his mind too ran wild with a different kind of passion burning in his groin. The wine only helped with his courage; he grinned; he hadn't known he needed courage to face a woman. But this was no mere woman; this girl had confronted him twice, had made a fool of him in front of his men. Had surprised him in ways no woman ever had. The look on her dirty sweaty face as she stared at him in the angst of battle, the way it devoured him – he liked that. He liked that a lot. He turned his back to the music but let it worm into his pores, like plague, sickening his body. He leaned dangerously to the side and he blamed it on the vibration of the voices singing outside, making him feel high, unstoppable, incredible. On fire. His hands raised high in the air, his mouth opened as he swirled on his heal, once, twice, then stopped abruptly right before the steps leading to her throne. He hummed. One knee to the ground, slowly, then the palm on the first step, then the other knee, up on the second step, and then the other palm, up on the third step and then he stopped. He leaned low, almost crawling until his face reached her ankle and she placed a long lavish kiss on her warm skin. He smelled her; _hmm…so good. _His tongue roamed for just a moment to feel her taste. He wanted more. He climbed with his nose following her scent along the leg, to her knee, where her dress came together preventing him from going any further. He groaned muffled in his throat and stood up, enough to caress her cheek with the back of his palm. She moved slightly.

Her lips parted; they were dry. In her numbness she saw a black shadow move before her sleepy eyes. Like a ghost against the sparkle of the moon. She startled opening her eyes at once and in her new awareness she pulled up more against the chair blinking fast.

Alchantar stood bent over her, with his eyes burning and his lips moist from too much wine. She swallowed in, still struggling with reality. She did not know Khal had also invited the Fire Chieftain. Why would he… She breathed in quickly and wished she regained her strength faster so she can escape him; but her body disobeyed her and took its time.

"I see… no wounds on your body… from your time… here." And his voice was unrecognizable; still it helped her wake up faster.

"My body does not bare the wounds. My heart does." And she cursed at herself for being so weak and speaking more than she should have. "Why are you here?" She already knew the answer, but she had to stall so she can find a way out of his grip.

"I am honoring your husband's invitation, of course."

"Of course." She straightened her shoulders and pushed her chin up. She was back in the game. "Still, his invitation does not permit you to be _here_."

"Close to you?"

"Close to his throne." Her voice was warning enough and he backed off a little understanding the deeper meaning to her words. She took a quick unheard breath and stood up forcing him to back off even more and he almost lost balance on the steps as he went down backwards. He wasn't pleased with her newly found resistance to him; he rather enjoyed her silent and obedient; lost. But he couldn't allow it to be caught off guard.

"Why is that? You want to keep it to yourself?"

"For now. Unless… it upsets you."

"Why would it?" he turned around, dancing, arms wide open as if he was embracing the room. "After all…" he turned to look at her with a smile "we are all allies now."

"No ally of mine attacks my home!"

"That is behind us now." He sounded like a snake in her ears and she wished she had a sword in handy.

"I don't believe you. Neither does Drogo." But her tone didn't seem to scare him; in fact it stirred the charcoal more.

"Well, how can that be, when he has invited me here to celebrate the peace we've made?"

"We've made?" she barked at him sharply. "You were nowhere close to his blade when I confronted him! The only reason you are here is because he is a much more astute and clever man than you are."

Her conviction surprised both of them and didn't give him the time to take advantage of it. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt betrayed in his insane want for her. She wasn't playing the same game as he was. She was using him as a pawn to stir Khal while he just wanted her for himself. _That_ – he didn't like. He rushed his hand in her throat so suddenly she didn't even see it coming; she just landed in the wall behind her and it hurt the back of her head. Moments later her entire body was trapped beneath him, with him pushing between her legs to open her up for him in an uncontrolled move that could cost him his life, right there, on the spot. His breathing fell on her ear, hot and incoherent as he spoke, among kisses and flicks of his tongue on her lobe.

"Don't treat me like this, princess! I can make you burn."

"You're sick if you ever think I'd let you touch me! Get off me!" She fought him back with all her might, but in her few weeks away from the battle field she had forgotten how it felt to always be prepared and now she struggled with reinforcing her body to fight.

"Don't do that Stekara, you know I like it!"

"Like _this_!" her knee came up and hit him in the groin with everything she had; or at least she tried. But Alchantar knew the kind of tigress he was up against and blocked her knee before reaching him. He pulled her away from the wall and threw her on the floor.

"Are you insane?" but he didn't care. He grabbed her ankles pulling her back to him and the dress got caught underneath revealing her long legs up to her thighs and she screamed turning on her belly to claw the floor in a desperate attempt to keep away from him. He kneeled before her and forced her knees apart but she flew up digging with her fingernails in his shoulders. "Think Wolof! All of your scheming, all of your plans will go to waste because of your insanity!" She kicked him again. "If your life is worthless to you then at least care about that, you stupid beast!"

The heavy footsteps coming through the door interrupted them. His shadow, long and scary, crawled on the floor, making its way to their feet and they looked up to see Khal standing in the door way. Behind him Dilawar had taken his sword out.

"Worthless as it may be, your life belongs to me now." Alchantar stood up at once taking careful steps back, bowing his head as if a storm was coming his way and he wanted to keep his eyes safe from the sand and the wind. But nothing prepared him for the strength and heaviness in Drogo's punch. He flew back in the candlestick behind him; the hot wax burnt his face as he lay on the floor with blood coming out his nose and mouth. Khal walked on top of her and went to retrieve Alchantar and deliver him to his death.

"Khal, don't!" She crawled on all four to reach him but he was too fast. She got up, stumbling on her dress but before she laid hands on him Khal's fist molded in the Fire King's face again and blood sprang from his open flesh reddening the white marble. "Khal, please!" She took his arm by the elbow trying to stop him but he pushed her away, so violently she fell on her back.

Then he took Alchantar by the throat bringing him up with his feet dangling above the floor and his once ally choked in his own blood, fighting for his breath. Leora launched another attack on her husband and this time he let go of his prey to take her on. His palm came down heavy but she bent fast enough to avoid it, and then sprang head first into his stomach pushing him with all her might in the wall behind. Khal looked down at her and her tiny body making incredible efforts to pin him down. He grabbed her from behind the head and squeezed hard; and she cried grabbing on his hands to ease the clutch he had on her muscles but it was in vein.

"Listen to me! Listen to me!" she yelled with the despair of a caged animal.

"You never speak to me and when you do, you defy me! Why – _why_ should I listen to you now?"

He forced her head up to look at him and as he was with his back at the window she could not read the rage in his eyes. _Plotters_! Her cheeks hurt from being squeezed so hard and she ran out of breath.

"Khal... Kha-"

"Don't say my name!" She couldn't feel her body weight anymore. And then suddenly she was bladed by an excruciating pain in her neck when her body dropped heavy hanging above the floor. He threw her away with sorrow in his eyes. Leora screamed from the top of her lungs; it all happened so fast, as if she was falling off a cliff with nothing to hold on to. In that fraction of a second she closed her eyes preparing for the impact but when it came it was softer than she had thought. Dilawar collapsed on his back holding her tight in his arms. His agitated breathing pushed her rebel hair off the forehead when she met his eyes, scared.

"Dilawar..."

Then she looked at Khal again, taking his knife out, kneeling next to Alchantar whose life bled out of his body with every drop.

"Dilawar, I have to stop him." She stumbled in his arms trying to get up but he captured her keeping her still. "He's going to kill him!" and she sounded desperate and weak at the same time.

"Perhaps." She could not understand how he could be so calm. "But you should not interfere."

"If he is to die, he must die by the law." She felt like her struggle was in vein and eventually she turned violent against her protector, hitting with her fists in his arms to break them loose.

"He is the law."

"Not where I come from!" She pushed him away and this time managed to sneak out of his protective circle but when she got back on her feet Dilawar called for her again.

"Khaleesi!" She stopped unsure whether she should let him try to convince her. She feared she'd give in and no matter the murderer Alchantar was he deserved a fair trial. "Where you come from, men honor their wives by protecting them; keep them away from harm and dishonor. Don't they?"

She knew she shouldn't have given him the chance. Now she doubted and her moment of weakness might have already cost Alchantar his life. A flash of pain in her back and she bent a little; it only took her an instant to remember just how much she hated war; just how much she hated violence. And now more than ever when she had sacrificed so much for a moment of peace. She looked to the side with watery eyes expecting to see the Wolof dead; but Drogo was still deciding and it amazed her that he was taking his time in killing a man. It never took more than a few seconds; she'd seen it happen before; it made her crawl in her skin with anguish and fear, but his decisions, violent as they were, were always justified and she could not argue with that. So she wondered what was happening now in his mind that he waited. His blade hanged above Alchantar's head, barely reaching the skin between his eyes; his hand steady, his breathing heavy and barely controlled. In her own struggle she appreciated his self control, the immense effort of not pushing the dagger deeper. A drop of sweat came down his temple, following the line of his scar, sliding lower on the cheek until it got lost in the thick beard and his hand trembled slightly. Leora let go and collapsed on her knees again with Dilawar behind her ready to catch her if she had fled.

"You disrespected my house, my woman. Me." He breathed in and Leora paid attention to that draw of breath as if it were the most tale telling sign of them all. "Such shame and disobedience shall not be forgiven. Nor forgotten." The tip of the blade dropped gently on the Wolof's forehead as if he'd released it by mistake. And it rested there for a while.

Alchantar's eyes widened; now that the wine was gone reality poured venom in his veins and he kicked underneath Drogo trying to free himself. His ego could not accept defeat; he had done right by him and his beliefs and any such attempt from anyone to fight his decisions caused him to burn with the fire of his ancestors. His hands grabbed onto Khal's forearm s but it was too late to make an escape. The Dothraki had sunk his knee in his chest and with his left hand had cuffed his neck in between his long fingers like fangs of the prairie tigers, clawing the life out of their prey. And Alchantar Wolof choked, kicking and scratching and groaning against the strong hold of his opponent, but at no avail. Khal bent enough to take a better look at his work of art when he started drawing a bloody mark on the Fire King's forehead. Long lines, climbing all the way up to the hair line and all the way down to the tip of his nose and Alchantar screamed with impotence. A few smaller ones to the side, above the eyebrows, down towards the inner corner of his eyes and two more across the forehead. Leora couldn't read his features anymore, blood was pouring from the cuts covering every pore on his face and she quivered in disgust, but Khal remained undeterred in his chores.

He was finally done. He let go of his prey and took the pressure off his chest but Alchantar wasn't moving anymore. His head fell slightly to the side, his eyes starring black and cold from beneath the thin rivers of blood. He was still alive, but drained. Khal got up, above him, observing his doing with a critical yet uncaring eye. He wiped the dagger blade clean then placed it back in its sheath. He passed her by silently, but somehow his attitude spoke more than words and she lowered her head, obedient as if he had commanded her already.

"Take her to her room. She is not to go out, receive any food or water, until I say so." He stepped across the threshold then halted. Behind him Dilawar took her arm helping her up, getting ready to obey his master. "No. Wait!" his voice had changed nuances and she didn't know what to make of this new acquired sensitivity of hers to his mood changes. "Bring her outside. Have her dance for me."

Leora's lips parted as if the skies had dropped on her shoulders and she felt her knees fail her again. She clenched on Dilawar almost imploring him not to send her to such public humiliation, but the Dothraki servant had to reject her plea. He took a quick look at Alchantar moaning on the floor, trying to get up but slipping on his own blood and bowed to his master. Khal disappeared on the porch; Dilawar helped her up and forced her to stand on her own because, like a spoiled child she would dread following him and would crawl hanging from his arms.

"You must do this. And you must do this on your own."

"I will not be humiliated! He, he… look what he did! This is not what it seems!"

But Dilawar remained silent still looking at her.

"If I take you there then it will be humiliation. If you go on your own, then it will be courage. You choose."

She backed up a little, concerned with her legs not holding enough power to carry her outside, less dance. She breathed in and again, like in the beginning of the evening it seemed that her breathing was louder than everything else around. Alchantar gave up trying and collapsed with his face down, still moaning, still cursing.

"Why did he cut his face?" Dilawar glanced at the Wolof with complete neutrality.

"You should go. This is not the time to make him wait."

But Leora wanted an answer so she didn't move an inch. If it were in his power, he would have smiled to such disobedience. Khal Drogo had found a woman worthy of himself; and his patience.

"He didn't cut his face. That is the Star of shame."

"Star of shame?" and she sounded if not incredulous, at least ironical. Dilawar came close and pushed back the strap to her dress, adjusting it on her shoulder carefully. Leora was astonished with his unexpected gesture.

"The Fallen Stars. Have you ever heard of the legend?" Leora shook her head not understanding why Khal would punish someone in the name of a legend but then again, Dilawar going around her fixing the folds of her dress, amazed her more. "Long time ago the Mighty Powers created this world and the souls in it, from the goodness of their heart, for they were generous, yet they felt lonely in their immortality." The dress had torn in the back and he tore it further effortlessly bringing into the dim light her pale skin from the shoulder blades down to her waist line and Leora startled. "Soon, their children here on earth became too many and among them hate and rage was born and spread across the realm like plague. They took pity in their creations and did not strike them down. Instead they chose few of them and endowed them with special powers to help them bring peace on earth." He brought together the tore material and tied it in a bow on the side of her hip. "They called them Stars, for they lived up in the skies from where they looked down upon the world, descending only when they were needed, always staying in the shadows, never revealing themselves." He came before her again looking at her to admire his doing. "And so they fought for peace for many years; until one of them decided the taste of power was too sweet to be used carelessly for the sake of others and from the skies he came down to claim his fame." He looked pleased with what he had done and his story ended with that conclusion.

"So they punished him for wanting more?" Dilawar glanced at the door and at the lights coming in through it. The music had rested; he knew they were waiting for her.

"For betraying the others. For betraying the Gods. He was the Fallen Star, who wanted more when he already had been given everything." He took her by the shoulders guiding her outside the room. "Alchantar will bear the sign of his betrayal on his forehead for everyone to know what he has done."

"He will want revenge…" but she whispered it more to herself as she stepped in the mild lamp light on the porch. The wind crawled under her dress bringing it up a little, enough to make it dance around her ankles and the cool air of the night and the song of the Dothraki Sea beyond the cliff soothed her sorrow for a little. Dilawar came at her side, facing the crowd; from his throne Khal listened carefully, even though he seemed torn from reality. His heart was in pain, his chest hurt with anger and disappointment.

"Khaleesi, adoptive daughter of the Mighty Powers and moon of our Khalasar will honor his presence and that of our guests, with a dance."

Khal startled as if he didn't expect it. His eyes rolled slightly to the side, but he felt so numb he couldn't reach all the way to see her. Not a whisper among the guests, not a word among the Dothraki. Leora came down the stairs, and sank her feet in the sand again. The men and women in her way moved back, making room for her until she reached the small circle of fire before the throne. She looked at it, burning with small flames on the sand and she took a moment to enjoy the playful game of the fire.

Behind her Dilawar quickly appointed a few servants to clean the throne room and look after Alchantar. He had to be well enough to leave at the crack of dawn the following morning. A voice rose high in the wind, penetrating the night with its powerful vibrations. Dilawar's eyes fell on her; she couldn't understand the words but it made her cry. She closed her eyes to prevent the tears from falling, then let her head fall back and her hair caress her naked back. She took a deep breath in and brought her arms up in the air as if she embraced the night, stretching towards the moon to bring it down and pin it in her hair.

The drummer hit the dry goat leather and the low muffled sound sent an impulse in her body and her back arched involuntarily, sending the hips in a prolonged sinuous circulatory motion; her chest came forward revealing the sweet curves of her breasts under the tore material. Khal's lips parted and in his misery he hated himself more for wanting the body of this treacherous cunning woman lurking him on dangerous paths. But his eyes remained on her and the way she moved, gracefully around the fire, stepping in and out the circle of fire, with the white dress dirty and lavish around her tiny ankles, brushing on top of the flames, almost catching fire with each spin she took. The rhythm intensified, more drums joined the voice singing to the skies and soon she was curling her body around the hands of the wind, grabbing her waist and she went at it faster, oblivious in her torture of having to dance for a man that knew nothing about her but thought the worst of her. The voice became thinner, hurting her ear and she knew it was drawing to an end; more voices and drunken screams and laughter joined the singer, the drums went louder, faster and her feet sank deeper with every twist and every touch of her dress across the fire, until it died out suddenly, in total silence and she fell to her knees. Sweating and barely breathing, with her knees naked in the sand. And the embarrassment overwhelmed her again, because for those few short minutes she had dedicated herself to the rhythm to free her soul and mind from the pressure of his eyes and now she had to face reality again. But when she looked up, it wasn't what she had expected. His eyes glowed in the mild light, sad and lonely, with a want she did not recognize. The air escaped her lips and she felt the urge to run to him and explain everything. Who she was and what she was fighting for so that all their troubles and fighting be over. But he got up before she could even stand and looked at her from his towering height and she felt small and subdued. The crowd applauded, the cheering traveled beyond the cliff and into the night above the sea. The passion in her eyes, the rhythm of the dance burning in her chest dissipated just like the sparks of the fires, melting in the dark. He was gone and she felt lonely. In her heart she knew she had danced for him; to apologize for having caused him trouble even though it had not been her fault. She looked at her small throne next to his and felt it wasn't her place to sit with him not there. _Why does it matter? Why does it matter?_ Her eyes fell to the ground searching for his deep footsteps for a minute. But there were too many and she couldn't trace his anymore. Dilawar's imposing shadow reached her and she looked at him bewildered. He signaled her subtly to follow the Khal; and she did.

She left the noise of the party behind and walked through the corridors, in the semi-obscurity of the oil lamps. She came in the throne hall and closed the doors behind her; the silence took her over as she looked around for traces of the earlier struggle. But the servants had been thorough and had cleaned every corner and there was nothing there to remind her of Khal's rage or of Alchantar's bloodshed. She looked away still marked by the rough and unexpected encounter. She stepped outside and closed the doors behind her but in her heart she could not find the strength to follow him. She stopped at crossroads searching for a shade of dignity that could give her wings to fly but she knew she needed more than dignity to face Drogo. She needed to be honest. Her eyes fell on the massive door to his bedroom. She had rarely been there; she did not want it and from what it seemed, he didn't want her there either. Her jaw trembled slightly. _Does he know?_ This crazy thought of him knowing the truth about her identity crossed her mind and she shivered visibly. She took a step back; she couldn't hear a thing from beyond those doors. She had to do it and she had to do it fast. She paced along the corridor until her hand was on the door, ready to knock and ask for permission. The world started vibrating like water in leather sacks, booming in her head with every heart beat and she had to make it stop before going inside. She had forgotten about the party, she did not worry for Alchantar's sake; she only thought of this challenge ahead of her. She pushed the door open, forgetting to knock and as she stood there staring at his back she knew she had made yet another mistake.

"When are you going to learn?" his voice didn't sound violent; it did sound like anything she'd heard him utter before. It was void and she felt guilty again. "Many times you have been told not to come here." He threw his fenders on the chair and then started opening the small buckles to his leather belt and she watched him do it with childish interest. He had never taken his time undressing when being with her. He was always in a hurry or was already naked as if his only purpose there was to have her and then leave. It saddened her, because indeed he behaved as such. _Condemned be your foolish soul, you stupid creature!_ Leora cursed at herself for caring for the manner in which he paid his visits to her chamber. She angered and backed off; he turned around to face her and his features darkened now that the moon light couldn't reach him anymore. The candle light barely helped putting a ray of warmth on his face. "Close the door and come here."

She did it, without even thinking or arguing. Instead she remained pinned where she was, not daring to go any closer.

"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now so come _here now_!" and finally his voice lost that ignorance and filled with a tone of anger she found reviving, but frightening at the same time. He always knew how to mingle the poison in words with the scent of threat in his voice. She came before him and for the first time she saw him tired; exhausted even, as if the evening had taken a toll on him. His shoulders lowered, his eyes sunk in the orbits, his lips dry. Her eyes remained set on his mouth and with the pressure of her inquisitive regard they parted inviting her closer.

Khal saw her bounce a little, as if she almost, unconsciously took a step towards him, her mouth opened slightly, just as dry as his and his fists clenched at the last moment to resist the impulse of grabbing her waist to kiss her. She didn't deserve it, this traitor; but he wanted it. They were too close; _you've done me so much wrong._ Their eyes never broke apart and if the moon didn't cast a spell on themselves it must have been the wine in his blood weakening him this way, otherwise he couldn't understand his poor control. He swallowed in and it drained him further showing her how hypnotized he was with her. But Leora didn't notice; she tip toed leaning to him and her lips reached his chin but he did not tilt his head for her; he remained still and she almost lost balance, grabbing on his arms for support. She woke up to a shameful reality where she was asking for his kiss and he was rejecting her; where she had misread his sadness for care while he was only proud and angry. Her eyes filled with tears and pushed away falling back a step. Her palms hurt from how deep her finger nails had dug in with her fists clenched strongly in an attempt to keep her crying at bay; he didn't deserve it, not even such short moments of oblivion where she almost gave herself to him. Her eyes pierced back into his, tears filled and angry as they were, she didn't care. But they hit solid rock just like before; impenetrable and cold. Her lips gathered in a narrow line ready to release the curses of her kind on him when his body came to life, so abruptly, so slick, she didn't have the time to even breathe before his mouth was on hers so dominantly and demanding she melted like snow under the touch of spring.

He closed his eyes unable to face the betrayal that his mind was shouting about loudly in his head; his heart had taken the lead and it had won the battle against reason and now he had her in his arms with her sweet mouth pressed so hard against his he must've surely broken her lip. He tilted his head and forced her lips apart and with a hoarse moan he dived inside with untamed hunger. She struggled in the prison of his arms, only to fight for the freedom to encircle his shoulders and she felt tiny in his embrace. Angry as she was, she felt grateful he had indulged her with this kiss; she had cried for not having it but she had lied to herself that anger was the reason behind it all; when it was just his rejection; his ignorance to her heartfelt call for him. But there he was; in her arms and she tangled her fingers in his hair holding on to him as he swept her off her feet and up against his chest, pinning her to him as a prized possession. _My woman…_ his words came to her mind and somehow penetrated through the fog of passion releasing a cloud of warmth in her belly, spiraling down dangerously, pouring in her core and she tensed her legs trying to keep that thrusting sensation between her thighs. His arm closed around her waist allowing the other hand to cup her buttocks and press her against him to feel his want for her and she groaned in his mouth to the testimony of his desire. She pushed her mouth on top of his, unable to move any other part of her body, with her legs dangling above the floor and he almost pulled back with her unexpected assault, but the animal in him didn't allow it. So he pushed back, sending her in the wall and she moaned with the harsh landing but didn't break the kiss. He let go to catch her face in his palms and she slipped down the wall, in a slow and painful excitement, caught in between the concrete and his body, and it made his mind fall apart with the touch. He rubbed against her, intruding her legs with his knee and she let go of his neck to scroll down his arms and around his waist but he pulled her back up and she clawed his shoulder blades with her fingernails trying to keep a hold on his body. Her tears had dried with how hot her cheeks were, his breath was searing her lips, her body had almost entirely disappeared underneath his and she stood on the edge of the cliff ready to take the dive into oblivion. Her head fell back and he sank in his face on the crook of her neck, drinking from that pool of scents and enchanting warmth her body impregnated his senses with and he took a deep breath filling himself with the smell of her.

A flash of reason bolted through his head and he closed his eyes tight against her skin, for his heart didn't want to give up yet. His hand slipped from her cheek, across her swollen breast, rubbing rapidly against the hardened nipple, then crawled under the dress pulling it up hurriedly. It happened again and it made him groan with the inner fight he wanted to win and lose at the same time. His tongue traced hot humid lines up her neck until he indulged in feasting on her earlobe, with such ardor it made her crawl in her skin. One more gentle flicker of his tongue on her skin and he let go, exhausted with his own effort to be coherent in her feelings for her. He did it slowly, making sure she wouldn't fall, then took a few steps back, hiding in the dark where he could clear his mind. His whole body pulsated with excruciating desire for her and he almost wanted to bend under the pressure in his groin; but he had to gain control of his body. And her body and clothes baring the marks of his hands on her, her disheveled hair, still caught in the indentations of the wall; he lips swollen from their kiss – did not help and so he looked away. He went to the bed and sat on the edge, holding his head in his hands with silence following his every movement.

Leora felt her knees shaking so badly, she wanted to drop to the floor and remain there, not understanding what had had happened, but being grateful for this moment of consciousness. She breathed in heavily and she tried her best to be silent but she thought even the walls could hear her. But through all the noise in her mind, the voices and chanting from outside in the yard finally made their way to her and she used them to calm down, even though it hurt low, in her womb with the unfulfilled desire for him.

Long moments past by before either of them could look at each other and still they could not speak; they just stared in silence. Leora got up slowly and came before him, with a bow and Khal's eyes had never portrayed a greater surprise. And when she spoke, she spoke calmly.

"I have come here to apologize; and explain, if you'd want to hear it." His eyes remained on her; he felt so peaceful inside against the hunger for her flesh.

"Explain."

_Is it warmth?..._ in his voice, or perhaps she just wished for it out of fear; she still feared him, now that she reasoned again.

"Alchantar… he challenged me." He continued to look at her and there was; a short lived flicker of humor in his eyes, so short she couldn't believe it. "I… answered his challenge."

"He was winning."

"No he wasn't." and there was a child in her that wanted to be stubborn and Khal's features drew a lingering smile. Then nothing again.

"He had his hands on you." And his voice had regained some of his former coldness but Leora enjoyed it for some reason considering the discussion.

"Alchantar believes there are more ways to subdue a woman than just the edge of a blade." She could read an unspoken question on his lips but he never asked it. "Are you mad with me?"

"For?" She didn't expect a question aiming at the obvious. Or maybe it wasn't as obvious as she thought.

"For stirring so much trouble. For shaking your trust in me." How did she come to that; she did not know. She wasn't aware of such concerns in her mind and so she stood baffled at her own statement. He straightened his back placing his hands on the knees, giving more power to his stare.

"I didn't know you cared about my faith in you."

She was left silent but in her eyes he saw the struggle to find the right words; the right words that would not betray her further.

"Faith is all we have. Faith brought us here."

Careful words, unrevealing of her soul, but strong enough to make him want to answer back.

"I did not come to Pentos out of faith." He got up and walked away staying in the entrance to the terrace with the moon carving a statue off his body as he stood against the light. "I only have faith in me."

"Then why am I here?"

Khal bowed his head wanting to lie. It was his turn to search for words.

"Fate."

She looked down and felt tears surging in her eyes again; he was right. Nothing of what had happened to her recently had happened out of her will. Everything was out of control and she was in a place beside a man that were strange to her and she had no say over it. Next moment Khal was facing her and she looked up with the chalk light of the night bathing her pale face. He restrained himself from cupping her face; it burnt his palms to do so but he had given her too much already.

"Daenerys, you are weak." And it hit her harder than she wanted to admit. "When you could be so much stronger." _Why are you doing this to me?_ He read the desperation and urge in her eyes; he didn't care. He opened his mouth to speak again but she was faster; her sister's name no longer started her – she had gotten used to being called Daenerys by now.

"Teach me." And if he expected a biting remark from her, he surely got slapped in the face with such naked and unexpected truth. He took a small step back, shaking his head gently as if he didn't hear it properly, coming out of _her_ mouth. He left her, going on the terrace to face the drunken crowd indulging in the pleasures of the night. He rested against the railing with his eyes blank. He didn't know why he had been so truthful with her. He looked at his hands; manly and strong and he remembered watching his father's just the same way when he was but a boy. Back then he dreamt at the day when he'd be just as strong and his hands would look just as rough and merciless. Now that he carried all the burden in those two hands he wished in his weakest moment that he could lay the weight of his responsibilities in someone else's hands; just enough for him to breathe. _Just for a while_… He turned to look at her and he could see through her; the tiny pale shell of her body hiding such a powerful spark; if she had only opened up… _to me_. There was so much in there; so much strength and will to fight, so much anger to be released yet so much fear to strangle them all. She was staring at him ready to absorb his words, if he were to speak. _Who are you and why do you stare at me this way? _He swallowed in again; a second time before the same woman, during the same night. _I want you._ He shivered inside. _Damn you woman!_

"I cannot teach you what you must learn on your own."

"Have you not been guided? Have you not been helped?" and the same despair resounded in her voice.

"Have you not as well? Then why haven't you learnt anything?"

She opened her mouth to speak but it would have meant betraying her nature; who she was and what she stood for. The orphan child with too many foster parents who had left her before her time; and now she was half way there; strong enough to begin, but not strong enough to finish. Her shoulders bowed and so did her eyes. She couldn't tell him but she didn't know how much he wanted to know.

"I shall."

She turned around walking slowly, with small steps towards the door; the dress falling off her shoulders, her hair a mess, the material torn and dirty from her dancing and Khal wanted her in his bed; to hold her. But he couldn't trust her; fully; not yet. _Not at all, fool!_

"I expected Jorah Mormont to be here tonight. Is this your doing as well?" she stopped gently as if she had barely heard him. "Another one of your challenges to me?"

She turned her head around, enough to glance at him and support his regard on her and the loneliness and worry in her eyes made him regret his approach.

"No. I wish I knew. He would have never dishonored your invitation." She turned more to grasp more of him in her eyes. "Perhaps he is only late and will arrive tomorrow." She silenced again with her eyes searching aimlessly on the floor as if the marble held the answers. "He would have never missed…."

They balanced their feelings with a long look at each other until she finally broke away and left the room. And Khal remained behind to feel lonely; and it had never happened before.

**WWWWWWWWWW**

_**A week before the banquette**_

The note still trembled in the wind trapped under the heavy ring; her words lit with the colorful light passing through the gem. The curtains filled with the air of the night and flew inside, shivering unheard allowing more of the moon glitter to sprinkle on Jorah's bed. He slept peacefully; his hands crossed over his chest, his eyes resting behind the closed lids. His chest moved slowly up and down in the rhythm of his heart beat; his breath calm, undisturbed by his illness and he savored in his sleep the beauty of a quiet night. Shadows moved across the room with every gentle sway of the curtains and in the dark corners there lay shades that did not belong in that room. They crept deeper and closer hiding the sound of footsteps with the sound of the whispering wind. The tip of the black boots emerged from the darkness as if it was an extension of the obscurity climbing down the walls. They remained frozen half hidden, half polished by the moon light, guarding the edge of Jorah's bed but the old councilor remained motionless in his sleep. Piercing eyes stared from above at the noble who in his sleep seemed feebler than when awake; but the hands didn't tremble a bit. Instead they clenched into angered fists to then relax with a stretching of the fingers, until the skin went white on the knuckles. The mind ran wild watching the little details of the room, the things it needed, the risks it took. It was a matter of time, not of fear; of escaping. The boots moved a bit with the way the shadow bent over the bed swallowing most of the covers and Jorah's body and it stopped hating how the moon betrayed its presence by nourishing the darkness more as if its presence there was bad omen in the room. _For… I am_ and it stood as a realization of its deed to be stopping for a moment, enjoying the prolonged agony before the ultimate release.

Jorah shifted slightly in bed, breathing fast as he turned his head on the pillow, away from the shadow lurking above him. It was time.

The hand came on his chest, pressing down and Jorah moved in his sleep but didn't wake still. The other hand grabbed on the pillow under his head and after a moment of hesitation or perhaps planning, pulled it forcefully away and Jorah's head fell abruptly on the mattress. His eyes blinked quickly and sleepy. His head came about slowly with an innocent look on his face but it took him just a moment to realize the reality he had woken up to. His eyes widened and he fell on his back bringing his arms up in defense but they looked like twigs when bracing the strong hold of the young man above him. They were close and Jorah's eyes sparkled with anger and discontent for not being able to pull the man into the light and reveal his face. The assailant freed his arms from the old man's grip and grabbed the pillow with both hands bringing it down on his face. Jorah struggled to push it away, his feet balanced under the blanket to support his weight and put strength in his arms. He kept the pillow inches away from his face, but the man continued pushing it in his face and his body had only gained that much force during his little sleep to be able to bare more. He kicked in bed aimlessly, and in the ear of the shadow it sounded like a sign of defeat so he pressed down more. It hurt; his lungs struggled to keep up the pace with his waist of energy and increasing heart beats, but somewhere on the way the congestion in his chest prevented him from winning this battle.

His arms fell short of resilience and the pillow slipped in between them landing roughly on his face and from underneath it Jorah's violent coughing exploded into the silent night scaring the shadow. His hold on the material weakened and Jorah pushed it away enough to take another breath of air but it was too late to stop his illness from eating him inside out. His eyes had filled with tears, stinging from the suffocation, they had turned red and on his pale face they looked like gargoyle monsters on a dying man. The shadow looked at him and in its enjoyment forgot to remain hidden.

Inside his head and in his heart anger built at the speed of light and Jorah threw himself at the man trying to kill him. _Dog! You filthy dog!_ He had never expected the councilor to fight him back, not now when he seemed lost. In desperation the man thrust forward cuffing the bony neck with strong determined hands and squeezed hard. Jorah fought against the collar suffocating him but his coughing only got worse. His blood boiled and the hotness in his tormented body passed on in the hands of the forager trying to take his life away and that life seared his skin as it was slowly leaving the old man's body. Jorah coughed in between breaths and foamy blood stained the man's hands and he released him suddenly, disgusted with the spatter. He pulled back, sinking deeper in the shadow from which had had come. But it was too late, the killing was done.

Sir Jorah Mormont laid motionless, with his neck twisted to an impossible angle, an inhuman and unworldly sight, with bloody saliva drawling out the corner of his rigid mouth; his eyes staring void out the window. The pillow forgotten in between their struggling bodies was now showing the signs of its new morbid purpose, stained with drops of blood and the shadow remained hidden unexpectedly affected by the sight of lurking death.

Inside his inert body, Jorah stared; he stared at the emptiness beyond the window; he couldn't hear the market anymore; the people in his home town, he couldn't hear the wind anymore. The moon blinded him but as he fought for one more breath he caught the movement with the corner of his eyes. It fluttered gently with the breeze of the silent wind, on the small table next to his bed. All of his remaining strength, all of his might and will to live poured in his eye sockets forcing the eye balls to move slightly; and when they focused on the little note pinned under his ring he was at peace. He could let go. His chest collapsed and he breathed in shortly, but not enough. A tear rolled on his cheek disappearing in the mattress; then another poling in the inner corner of the eye to then fall rapidly and heavily along his long bony nose.

But it didn't dry. It got smudged on the pillow that darkened his sight as it got placed on his face again. One more breath; one last flicker of light and the paper glowed, with its black letters, waiving its goodbye with a fret of its edges. _Faithfulness remains…_

The pillow went soft once the pressure disappeared, hiding Sir Mormont's face away from the shameful fleeing of his murderer. And time stood still as he left the door open behind him.

As soon as he was outside the palace he crawled unseen and unheard through the small alleys of the city. He reached the Fountain of Fate, protected from the light by the tall houses around and he slipped behind it, listening carefully to the murmur of the falling waters. And there he remained; waiting; but in his chest his heart was racing ahead of time, his mind worked fast preparing his escape; his alibi; his new plan.

From across the small market, two more shadows appeared, unlike one another, but similar in the way they slipped across the walls, trying to pass by unobserved. Safely hidden by the shades of the moon cast above the roofs, Esther stepped first out into the open, followed by Kazam with the heavy breathing of a heavy man. They kept still waiting, but it seemed they were the only ones there; until he slowly came out from behind the fountain, looking around, searching for open windows and curious eyes that could have spotted his inopportune presence in that unusual place.

Esther looked at him with eyes already shrouded by guilt. Kazam was silent, afraid, but evil in his eagerness to find out whether their little plan had paid off. But when he stepped into the light, Narcil Lorday looked victorious. He cleaned his hands dry from the fountain water; now all traces of Jorah's blood on him were gone and all the guilt went with it. His eyes sparkled in the obscurity and despite his moment of panic facing his victim's death he now thought of the freedom that came with it and what he had to do next.

"It is done." And his voice sounded proud and cold. He had taken the reins of destiny in his hands and he was ready to guide the cart of fame and fortune his way. "Is everything ready?" His voice remained undeterred by the ruin on Esther's face.

"We leave at dawn." Kazma replied just as plainly.

"Then we should get some sleep. We have a long journey ahead."

In the midst of the night their steps sounded like ghosts walking through the walls, making the wood crack and rubble crumble. Behind the small party more shadows followed as the moon was slowly shifting towards her sinking pit in the horizon. And as it drew nearer to earth it carved a longer darker shadow than any before that night. It stood upright, in the middle of the small market the three nobles had just left behind. With his hand pressed against his belly and evil eyes burning, Kanza watched them leave the small streets of Pentos to take their plot into the heart of more dangerous lands. And he was going to wait for them to return, miserable with defeat and then he would end that misery for them.


	18. Chap 17 - Old family

**Old Family**

_**Three days after the banquette**_

Her head hurt and she pressed her palm across the forehead in an attempt to keep the pain away. It was heavy on her shoulders and she found it hard to keep the eyes open. She had waited for three days for a sign from Jorah. Illyrio's men had come and gone and still he had not made his appearance. She had sent word to the Magister to let her know at once of the councilor and his whereabouts. _He wouldn't have missed this!_ The worry had damaged her sleep and appetite and with Alchantar banished from the Dothraki land she now also feared his anger and revenge. She could've used Jorah's advice, but she knew nothing of him and she couldn't leave for Pentos; Khal would have never consented to it, unless there was a good reason. She bent over the edge of the bed with a terrible nausea and she cradled her belly with her arms. She had to have something to eat. She got up slowly and went to the small table set in the corner of the room. She sat down on the chair, tired, as if she had walked for miles so she took her time to rest. She looked at the small wooden box she had brought with her from Pentos; it had been Daenery's and she valued it dearly. She kept her jewelry in there and a few memories from home; souvenirs she had gathered as a child from her days as a Tekara. But now she had hidden something else among the traces of past; something important for the future. She knew Khal would not find a little carved box suspicious and her secret would be safe. She opened the lid and searched with her fingers through the sparkling gems and golden amulets. And there it was; the black velvet gave her the goose bumps when she traced the edges of the material. She opened the small sack carefully not to spread its content and put two fingers inside. She hesitated; she turned her head slightly to listen for any signs of someone coming. But the late morning was silent; she dragged the small chest across the table, bringing it before her then looked around again; no one. She took her fingers out of the little sack and quickly cupped her palm for the little golden seeds to fall in. She startled when they rolled in getting buried in the wrinkles of her skin. She counted them; eight seeds. She took three and placed them back in the sack. Then looked at the five left; she was told they'd be enough. A knock on the door and she startled violently, wasting them on the table. Her heart beat accelerated galloping in her chest; she turned abruptly towards the door almost throwing the chair back, then realized she had to hide all evidence of her secret and swept the seeds back in her palm; she hurried to put them back but the sack, but it was too small and her hands were shaking too badly so she just closed her fist around them, pushing the box back. She backed off against the table, with her hand behind her back.

"Yes…" but the word barely made it half way through the room. She cleared her voice then tried again. "Yes, come in."

Dilawar stepped inside with his head bowed, as always and she was grateful because she thought her entire body trembled.

"My Khaleesi, you have visitors."

"Visitors?" and her voice sounded much stronger than before now that her heart beat with the pace of renewed trust and hope. "Where from?"

"Pentos, my Moon." And he could hear her breath stumbling out of her in a rush of adrenaline.

"I will…" she had to clear her voice again because excitement had taken the best of it. "I will be there in a moment." Dilawar bowed ready to leave. "Wait! How many?"

"A few my Khaleesi." He waited in case she needed more from him.

Leora took a small step forward then she remembered and closed her fist harder, backing off. _Of course…_ Jorah would never travel alone so far from home. She breathed in and this time it was pure relief.

"Leave me Dilawar. I must get ready!" and he vanished unheard from her chamber.

**WWWWWWW**

The noblemen kept still but their flesh shivered feeling the imposing presence of the Dothraki guards behind them. One of them turned around slowly, peaking at the massive bolts holding the door closed and swallowed in drily. None of the shine and luxury of the Pentos court adorned these halls, yet the brute carvings and strong colors turned them into breathtaking sights and their eyes wondered across the marble floor and tall windows. And when they finally settled on the ancestors battling above their heads, their heart stopped somewhere up in their throats, making it difficult for them to swallow. The doors opened and they startled, correcting their position as if they had been called before a general and had to show respect. The heavy golden chains bearing their noble seals hang heavily on their necks; heavier than the usual; or perhaps it was this place that made their minds unease.

Leora stood tall, her hands joined together strongly, right in front of her belly, fretting with impatience. Her eyes bright, her pale lips flourishing with a smile barely contoured. But it melted away when she looked across the throne room. Her eyes met theirs and then passed beyond uninterested with the sight of these nobles she did not care for. Behind them, a few more men and she recognized the traditional wear of her kingdom; but they weren't him either. If it hadn't been for her eyes moving in the eye sockets, they'd have thought she was a statue frozen in time, with no spark of life or joy, motionless limbs with just her hair fluttering silently with the unseen drafts of wind. Her dry lips parted but her breath remained unheard in the morbid silence.

"My Lady!" The noblemen and their companions bowed but she remained just as cold. "We are late, please forgive us." Their words crossed the hall and touched her ears but made no sense.

"Where is Jorah?" She wasn't sure they'd heard her; she had spoken so softly. The men kept silent watching her and something lingered in their eyes that made her frown.

"His bad health has got the best of him, my Lady, I am afraid. But as you know him, so meticulous and careful in his actions he did not want us to come unprepared, thus, here we are, belated in our celebration of your new home and our blessed alliance!"

Her eyes narrowed when she looked at the little man speaking. It started coming back to her, all these faces, so familiar. She had seen them before in Pentos, hidden in the corners, objecting and fighting. In her confusion at the time she had not given them much attention and then they had disappeared from her life. Only Jorah and Illyrio had been a constant in her short presence as a Princess on the Westeros throne. But she did recall these faces; at least one or two.

"And whom do I owe my gratitude for this visit?" and her voice betrayed her slow and rather inconsistent recollection.

The noblemen took a moment to look at each other, then the older one of the three took a step forth and with a bow he spoke calmly, like only a man his age could.

"My Lady, Lord Lyrus Esther at your service. And these are Lord Narcil Lorday and Lord Chaka Kazma, my traveling companions."

"At your service, your Majesty." They followed Esther in his bowing but Leora wasn't satisfied with their answer. The nobles got up with the same gallant smile on their faces, but it dyed little by little as they stood up right and her eyes pierced through then as if through a veil of smoke. They looked ghostly, staring and Leora startled seeing their blank vision. She turned around slowly and saw Khal standing behind her and for some reason she found him beautiful this morning; maybe it was this aura of calmness around him, the way he kept his posture, his eyes on her – protective, and she needed it. In her heart she felt something was not right and she wanted him there to comfort her with his presence. She took a short breath of air and bowed slowly before him. Khal looked at her in his usual implacable way but in his eyes the shades of green darkened with a deep and secret pleasure of seeing her so obedient. _Not obedient… _he couldn't find the word to describe this peace he saw in her. He felt it too; _weakness!_ He turned his eyes away from her. She was taking his focus away and he had other things to concern his mind with for the time being.

"Khalasar!" The noblemen bowed again and stayed there for a long time until the Khal came close to inspect them. He didn't remember them; perhaps the little one.

"Stand." Her inquisitive eyes in his temple forced him to sooth his manners unconsciously. "… please." And he glanced at her admonishing her for intervening with that intruding look so improper for the wife of the Khalasar. He went around the nobles, not to observe them, but to hide a grin; it was against the rules to enjoy her invasive character, but it comforted him to have someone always causing him problems that he took pleasure in solving. He peaked at her above Esther's shoulder; she was watching him with eager eyes and a heat wave struck in his chest flashing through his belly and into his groin before he could control it. He narrowed his lips argumentatively to the feeling; Lorday turned his head around and met his eyes – he thought he had heard the Khal groan. But the Khalasar dismissed him immediately and he went back staring at the floor. _Did she smile?_ For a moment he thought she had smiled seeing his uncontrolled gesture but if it had happened it was now gone and she too had hidden her eyes from him. He finally came about, grateful that he stood with his back at her to avoid anymore of her provocations. "I do not recognize Jorah Mormont among you. Where is he?" And behind him Leora's heart skipped a bit waiting for the answer.

"He is not well my Khalasar. His illness has confined him to his chamber. Unfortunately, he was too weakened to make a journey this long." Lorday took the reins of the conversation coming forth, keeping his eyes in the ground fearing he might betray his excitement. An excitement filtered with the fear he bared in Drogo's presence.

"You are late. Is it because of his illness that you had to delay your departure?" Leora took a step closer to them, but even closer to Khal.

"Yes my Lady. Despite his sufferance he wanted to make sure we come prepared to honor your house, your new family and our allies." And for the first time Lorday dared look her in the eye; but she seemed far away protected by Drogo's chest and shoulder, like walls painted in blue, rising before his eyes, blocking his view. He could not get past him and he retracted another step and so did Kazma and Esther, revealing the servants behind them carrying the chests of gold and sacks of expensive textiles they had carried for over a week. They laid them at Khal's feet kneeling before their guests; Esther followed and Kazma forced his round body to do the same; only Lorday took his time in showing his gratitude to their peace maker. A quick, short lived current passed through Khal's lower lip and it quivered imperceptibly. It crossed his mind, just for a moment to turn around and leave without a word; but somehow he knew she expected more of him than to be a brute. He looked away with a snarl, unhappy that he even cared about her opinion. He took a deep breath; it was tiring always being on guard when it came to protocol and politeness; especially towards those he didn't seem to trust – and these three looked suspicious to him.

"Tha Khalasar accepts your gifts and extends his gratitude to your councilor." The noblemen looked at him from the top of their eyes, with their heads still bowed. Khal turned around to leave when he decided Jorah deserved more. "I hope Sir Mormont succeeds in his battles." His eyes fell on her and for some reason he felt that maybe Jorah's struggle was coming to an end and it saddened him to think that way. His eyes shadowed with a somber feeling, but he did not voice his worries out loud. He left without another word but Leora had already seen it; it had sunk through her pores, creeping down her spine and she shivered with an unwelcomed chill.

"My Lady? …" Lorday's voice barely succeeded in bringing her back from the awkward sensation. She looked at him absent minded. "Is there anywhere private where we could discuss?" And her lips parted with a confirmation of her worries; there was more to Jorah than they were telling her. She lost her breath.

"Follow me." But they didn't hear her; she just turned and left and they followed, unconvinced of her intentions. Behind them the servants carried the gifts away and soon the throne hall was empty and silent again as if nothing was about to happen.

**WWWWWWW**

The sun shone brightly above the prairies. The tall grass was now gone allowing the hooves to move freely and not get tangled in the hay anymore; the thorny bushes had disappeared, but the wounds they had clawed in his skin remained, bleeding and hurting, coagulated in the heat of the sun.

The horse was sweaty and it smelled; short reddish hair from the animal got stuck on the man's chest and face, his sweat mingling with the dirt on his skin and his senses died when inhaling the intoxicating combination. He pushed up in the saddle looking for fresh air, condemning himself for being ungrateful to the horse that was on the verge of giving its life to bring him home. His hips were on fire with the leather being overheated from the long ride; the journey had drained him but he knew his life and that of his villagers depended on his survival.

He saw the rocky cliffs; he heard the sea and waves of coolness soothed his mind. It was playing tricks on him; he still had to ride until sunset before reaching its shores, but just the thought of being so close gave him wings. His head tilted dangerously to the side. He had drunk his last drop of water two days before and now he was drying inside; he was itchy all over, he was blinded by the sun. He dropped forth again, with his nose buried in the horse's hair. He could hear its heavy breathing; his mouth open with foam coming out and drops of saliva hanging from the tip of his tongue. As he pushed forward the ground got more solid underneath the hooves as they closed in to the edge of the world. But they were both drawing to an end and the man only prayed he ended his last breath at his Khalasar's feet or his mad fleeing would have been in vain.

**WWWWWWW**

She closed the door behind them and took a moment to breathe, to get ready for their news.

"Tell me." She was eager and out of breath.

"It's nothing to worry, my Lady." said Lorday seemingly worried and concerned but Esther's breath died out as he turned slightly away, nervously. "Lord Jorah is fine; nothing he cannot surpass, I am sure. But he must rest now."

Suddenly not much else was important now that she knew Jorah was fine.

"Then why so agitated, Sir Lorday?" Maybe her mind had perceived the lie in his voice and did not want to give up so easily.

"We have a message for you. From the councilor."

"Let me see it." And she stretched her hand ready to receive the scroll.

"For reasons of safety, such message could not be put down on paper, my Lady. Once you listen to it, you will surely understand his concern." Leora frowned; Jorah was always a precautious man, but never a fearful one. She took a few steps away from the three men, to look outside the window. The sun was scorching the sea, bleaching the waves. It was so hot. If Jorah had really trusted these men he would have known they'd have given their lives first before his message could be found. Words out of a mouth were but words, like leaves carried by the wind; some reached the ground, some got caught in spider webs and withered until they were no more. Who could tell their story? But words in ink were thresholds that could not be crossed and hurting your feet against them would always be a reminder of a promise; a promise that stood proven by those words. Jorah knew the value of the written word; it could not have been denied and he wouldn't have sent his message any other way. He knew she would need proof, especially with how delicate their situation was; especially when having very few people to trust. She groaned imperceptibly.

"Speak then." There was her strength regained, encouraged by her own knowledge of Jorah's methods; she felt empowered to decide over the truthfulness of their message. But still, she did not turn to face them; better just listen, than let the ear be influenced by the treachery of the eyes. She heard the commotion behind her and it added more to her doubt.

"It is hard for us to utter such words, my Lady, forgive us. They are to mirror themselves upon all of us." Lorday's voice sounded just as worried as before, but something in his tone rang hollow. She turned around, staring in his eyes.

"It shouldn't be hard to utter another man's words knowing that the responsibility is not yours to bear." Lorday's eyes sparked as if a small crack appeared in his well constructed story. But he recovered fast; he was a step away from completing his plan; his victory was at hand and he wasn't going to let it out of his grasp.

"The heaviness of his words would weigh on any who heard them; even on you my princess…" And he waited with a bow, to let his venom drip in her veins, but she remained motionless and he didn't expect such a mature and calm reaction from her. So he tried again, with what he thought would be a deeper meaning to his words. "It is never easy to plan the death of a man."

Her chest got swollen as if air was forcefully pushed inside, so much that it hurt, her face congested but she barely let it surface and by the Gods, she was proud of herself. Or maybe it was that the more he spoke, the less she trusted this man.

"I do not understand." And she found no better words to address him, but a simple question always demanded a simple answer.

"The councilor advises that you assist in bringing the Dothraki terror to an end."

Her chest didn't hurt because of the air, it hurt because of the sudden anger booming in under her ribs, unstoppable and uncontained. She took a step forth almost running Lorday over, threatening and imposing. She groaned her words as if she was about to take a bite off his flesh.

"You are telling me that Sir Jorah Mormont asks me to kill the Khal?" and she had raised her voice to a dangerous level where someone sitting outside the door could have heard her. Kazma and Esther fretted behind them, looking around as if the walls could let their struggle transpire outside into the other rooms.

"My Lady, we should not…" but Esther was cut short with her hand pushed in his face as silencer.

"_I_ am speaking _now_!" She went back to gripping on Lorday's undeterred features. "Look me in the eye and tell me again that Jorah asks for this!"

"This has been the plan all along; or so he says."

_Or so he says…_ _scum of the world, you pitiful warm!_ She foamed with rage and she couldn't explain her sudden outburst. After all, she was the one lying, she was the one sneaking behind Drogo's back with her scheming, be it was just for the peace of her throne and the life of her subjects and still it did not excuse her lies to him. Perhaps Jorah had considered it when Drogo had first proposed the marriage; maybe he had had thought of that. _Perhaps I have thought of it too…_ She covered her mouth with her fist, desperate and confused.

"I need to hear Jorah say that himself."

"As you wish, my Lady!" Esther bowed and fell back towards the door.

"My Lady, do you not trust us?" Lorday intervened cutting his retreat. "A journey back to Pentos now would be a waste of time when this time could be used to strike!" Leora opened her mouth to speak but he didn't let her, convinced this was his opportunity to make her fall. "I did not mean to tell you, but the councilor is in a rather weak state, any such disturbance would only cause him more sufferance."

"Disturbance?" She was angry and her anger hit him in the face with every step she took towards him.

"I am only saying, your Majesty, that he strongly advised to act now, while he is still here to assist, rather than… leaving you all alone to face an uncertain future as a Dothraki slave."

"You mean wife and you mean the Khalasar! Mind your tongue while you're in his home! Had I not done that, neither of us would be here today! For a messenger, your words burn more than Jorah probably meant them to."

And for the first time since he'd arrived Lorday found himself baffled by this girl; a girl he had never accepted. A girl who seemed to have grown into a woman he did not recognize. He couldn't tell whether she considered his suggestion or just wanted to verify its truthfulness. Well, Jorah could not reassure her anymore, so he had to convince her then and there.

"My Lady, we speak in truth, we –"

The doors opened suddenly, without even a knock and Dilawar appeared in the door way, shadowing them all. The light only came through when he bowed.

"Khaleesi! The Khalasar is calling for you. Now!"

She didn't even think twice; caught up in the confusion this unexpected visit had caused her she left the room at once, without even dignifying the nobles with a look. As soon as she went out she turned towards Dilawar, stopping him in his tracks.

"Make sure they don't go anywhere unless I say so!" and Dilawar had never seen her so commanding. He nodded and she disappeared in the throne hall.

**WWWWWWW**

The man was on his knees, with his forehead stuck to the marble floor, his open palms resting on the first step leading to Khal's throne. And Khal looked petrified, with his green eyes frozen, like grass under the Northern winter blankets. She had rarely seen him so menacing, frightening to the bone and she stopped abruptly bowing her head, more out of protocol than anything. The scene worried her and with the venom Lorday had already injected in her she didn't have the patience to wait around anymore so she carefully stepped on the stairs coming next to him. The doors opened and the Council flooded the room, with their wooden staffs knocking on the floor and she wished she had the time to talk to him before. She sat in her chair and glanced at him, motionless and inexpressive. She wanted to reach for him and touch his hand as it clutched on the handle of the throne. But she refrained from such impolite gesture; she looked back over her shoulder at the door she had just closed behind her, thinking she had left words of death lingering in her footsteps. She looked away in pain; she did not want to think about that now when he reeked of life, right next to her. Her heart was pounding again as if the old frightful Leora had found her way back in this weary body of hers.

The council members took their place, looking a bit unprepared for this unexpected reunion; Dilawar stood alone against the door, keeping an eye on the crowd and on the guards, as if the throne hall was a fortress that had to be defended. Silence; an old man cleared his voice. The stranger kneeled at their feet was as steady as a rock in his bow to the Khal. And it made her nervous.

"Speak." And she looked at Khal with her heart going small, like a rabbit when being cornered; it sounded so hoarse and crude, it gave her the chills. The man raised his head enough to free his lips, but kept his eyes to the ground and she could see the muscles in his tired arms flex with the struggle to keep his painful position straight.

"My Khalasar, the Sun's blessing may be bestowed on you! For we need your light to guide us in this dark hour!" his breath ran short and his elbow bent; he lost balance and fell forward with a moan; he quickly tried to bow again but his efforts took more of his energy than he had to spend. Leora fretted on her throne, uneasy with his sufferance. "I… we…" his shoulder fell low again and he couldn't keep the hold on his head anymore - his forehead hit the marble.

"Dilawar, bring me a chair!" Her voice distracted the Council. She got up abruptly and hurried down the few stairs pushing her dress aside to kneel next to the man. His foggy eyes, dried by thirst and clouded by exhaustion set upon her and a thousand words couldn't describe his amazement. He fell to the floor, apologizing profusely with his fingers curled in her dress. Dilawar didn't move; his eyes were on the Khalasar, but Khal remained silent.

His earlier anger had somehow diminished with her interruption. _Woman!..._No time to argue with her now. He didn't even look at his servant; he just nodded and Dilawar ran to bring her the chair.

"Help me!" She grabbed the man's arm, trying to lift him up, but he continued crying his apologies and she was impotent in moving him. "Dothraki!" her voice was loud enough for the birds to stop singing, for the wind to stop flowing; for Khal's eyes to fall on her with a hidden smile. _Woman!_... Dilawar looked at Khal again and saw him fixing her and he acknowledged that as an approval. He brought the man up and forced him on the chair. He embraced his knees, and kept his head low between them, continuing to bow.

Leora signaled one of the other servants to bring her water; with the cup in her hand she pushed his chin up, but he denied her kindness.

"My Khaleesi, I am not to look upon you. I am not worthy. You are the Moon to our Sun and I am not to dishonor him." She knew she couldn't win this war. She looked at Khal, pleading for his help.

"Do as she says." His words came as a relief and the man hurried to obey them; yet it took him a few moments before turning his eyes to look at her and she smiled. His hand trembled when he took the cup and she held it to make sure he drank it all. Water dripped from the corner of his mouth washing through the filth of his long journey. Dilawar took the cup and helped her up; one last look, she went back to take her place at Khal's side. She sat slowly, as if she wanted to pass by unobserved after what she had done. But Khal was already looking at her and his eyes were burning her temple. She glanced at him and saw the snow had melted and the green in his eyes had warmed up.

He sighed almost unperceivable then turned his attention towards his man.

"We were attacked, my Khalasar. The village burnt to the ground." The man stopped abruptly with his voice ending in sorrow. Underneath all the dust and the dirt a young boy was trying to be a man. "The women fled in the grass. They took the children; they took whatever they could. If they took…" He sighed and immediately regretted his sign of weakness, even though his voice had grown stronger. "The men stayed behind to fight." And she could hear the regret in his voice for having been sent away from the battle. "I alone was sent by our elders to come here and let you know."

Khal remained silent; with the court looking at him and he wished he was alone to close his eyes until they hurt and the white in them reddened with pain. His villages had been attacked many times, but this time he knew by whom and why. He had just not expected it so soon.

"Who was it?" His voice made her shiver inside, but she kept her back straight, like he did.

The young man dared the unthinkable and raised his eyes to meet those of the Khal.

"The red flags. They burnt everything." His lips narrowed, his eyes fell back to the floor.

Leora gasped for air. _The Wolofs!_ She looked at Khal and he wished he ignored her but he couldn't and so he looked at her as well allowing her worry to penetrate his senses. _Woman! Quit your torture!_ His jaw clenched leaving her eyes behind to look at the council. He stood up, slowly, as if he wanted to get away from her but at the same time dreading to face his people and the decisions he had to take now.

"The Wolofs." And their name on his lips somehow reassured her that she wasn't alone in this battle. She fretted and in her restlessness her eyes fell on the door again and it felt as if the three men locked behind it were an infectious disease sent to poison her. Khal descended the few steps and the young boy dropped to his knees again. "Stand. The time for kneeling is over. Now we must stand and fight."

"The Wolofs have violated our agreement! They must be crushed."

"The Wolofs are only taking revenge…"

The voices of the Council died with the gust of wind pushing through the windows and Khal's eyes cutting through those who spoke.

"Revenge?" He seemed ready to accept the challenged thrown at him by the councilors and the one who had made the remark silenced for a moment before speaking again; sometimes old age came with much foolishness and temper.

"Alchantar Wolof seeks revenge because of the shame our Sun had put on him."

Khal came before him bending above his chair, shadowing his skinny body wrapped in too many layers and the councilor breathed less.

"He dishonored my house, my woman, my throne. Our alliance. Had I done the same to him, I wouldn't be standing here."

But in the back of his mind he knew what they really wanted; they didn't like her. She was to be blamed for all the evil. His fists clenched, angry with the councilors, angry with himself. But not angry with her; _woman…_ "It's not her fault…" and cursed he by the Gods when they made him think out loud! And now the councilors' eyes cursed him even more.

For Leora time stood still; his words had come to her like whispers. The weakness in his voice was medicine to her heart. She stood up hypnotized and they turned to look at her.

"Let me come with you. To fight."

"My woman doesn't fight." She found it so hard to stop that smile from surfacing, so she bowed quickly to hide it.

"Forgive me, my Khalasar. But fighting is what brought… _us_… our people together!" she stood straight piercing in his eyes. "And fighting we will, together!" She took a step away from her throne, and in her new act of valiance she found a new woman reborn. "If Alchantar is not stopped, many more than your people will suffer. Think not only of yourselves. Think about the smaller, weaker, less powerful of the tribes. They will soon fall prey to his greed. We all know the history of the Wolofs."

"And why are we to stop him? Why not the people of Pentos, the great Eastern Kingdom with its mighty walls and riches!"

Khal's eyes burnt the councilor as he spoke but it was too late; the poison had been released and now it spread into the air infecting the others. A woman, be it the consort of the Khalasar or not, had no right to intervene in men's affairs of war.

"This is not our fight! A matter of revenge can be easily treated. We must not embrace war so easily." The voices continued to roar in the hall sending their echoes of anguish and mistrust into her ears.

"War has embraced you already and now it's consuming you from inside out. Can you not see it? Alchantar Wolof is not at the borders of Pentos, he is here! And after this village, there will be another and another. Fires feed on wood and the Wolofs feed on our souls!" Leora took another step down the stairs, looking at each councilor in turn. One of them got up, throwing his cape aside, in defiance.

"My Khalasar, our Moon is surely not aware of the dangers hidden in her reckless advice."

Khal turned around abruptly sending him back in his chair.

"I met her on the battle field where you have never set foot in your life! And you are three times her age! She will speak in my presence if allowed!" he took a short breath then spoke again as if he had never stopped. "And she's allowed."

Leora almost held her breath listening to him. She knew she had to choose her words carefully and not stir spirits further.

"From my little knowledge of Alchantar he would have turned to bite us whether because of revenge or otherwise. He does not need a motive to be his cunning self. You perhaps know it better than I do." She paused waiting to see whether they would allow her to continue. "Where there are enemies, there are also allies and we can find them and forge new alliances, true alliances that will not fail us like before!" They looked at her in mistrust and disgust; some in hatred. "The people of Pentos will fight and I along with them. And you should do the same, if your Khalasar stands for you. He shouldn't stand alone."

"There is no turning back. She is right. We knew this could happen, with or without provocation. Alchantar was never to be trusted; we used him and he used us. Now it is time to end this misery of a treaty we had with him." Khal returned to his throne, passing her by and when he reached it he turned around and waited for her to follow. For a moment they stared at each other with new hope. She joined him and he signaled her to sit first; she did keeping her eyes on him as he filled his throne with his imposing stature. "Send a small patrol to recover the wounded and the dead. Find the women and the children and bring them back. Send scouts to the other villages. Warn them. Find out where Alchantar is heading. I want to know of his army. If he has horses, cut them loose; if he has supplies, burn them all. Leave the men alive. We do not cheat death by back stabbing our enemy."

"My Khalasar!" the young man bowed quickly coming before him. "Let me go with them! I know the way, I know the hideouts! I can lead them!"

"Dying for your people is honorable; dying on the way to save your people because you were too ignorant to rest first, it's stupid." His voice did not betray any sympathy for the man's cry.

"I will sleep tonight, I will heal on the way. It's just scratches my Sun!" He bowed again several times, faster. "Please! I left my brother behind. He's all I have!"

Had he been around Khal more, he would have known such reasons never softened him if a greater good was at stake. Leora waited for the Khalasar's answer just as eager as the young man, but he seemed undeterred in his decision.

"My Khalasar you should let him." Khal took a deep breath of air; she should not push her luck that much. "I will take care of him. He will be fit to lead the way."

"My people know their land. They don't need a guide." But if he thought that would end her pleading, he was wrong.

"Your land is vast; the Dothraki tribe reaches the far ends of the prairies. And your people are skilled trackers and know each corner of it well, but none knows it better than someone who calls that piece of land home."

_Woman…_ He gave up. He looked her in the eye to gratify her with his admiration for her perseverance, even if just for a second. But it was more than she expected.

"If you fall behind, they will not wait for you."

"Yes, my Khalasar! Merciful and wise are you, my Khalasar!"

"The rest of you start preparing for war. I want the walls reinforced where needed and the gates checked. Double the guards, prepare the armory and keep the escape routes open."

"My Khalasar, I think there is no need for such extreme measures. The Wolofs have barely touched our borders. There are many villages in the way and much distance to here." The Councilors all rose, waiting for their chieftain to speak, restless in the face of war.

_Sometimes I wish – _"Sometimes it is best to be cautious than be unprepared. You must keep safe until my return."

"My Khalasar, you cannot leave the city walls at this time!" the worries in the voices rising in the hall, did not disturb him.

"We cannot be left unprotected!"

"And they can?" He covered all of their murmur and whispering, and soon their quivering and groans died under the pressure of his harsh tone. "Are they not of this tribe? Are they not my people as well?" he paced back and forth for a moment looking like a killer deciding the fate of his victim. "You say you're unprotected behind these walls and with the refuge of the sea at hand. What about them? What do they have?" He stopped sending his searing anger across them. "They have me!" The council clustered against the door like sheep being led into enclosures and they didn't say a word. "Do as I say. We leave at dawn. Dilawar, summon my generals at once! Make sure everything is ready!"

The doors opened releasing the small crowd of people hurrying to hide and gossip. Dilawar took the servants with him as he closed the doors behind them. They were left alone.

"Do you always take such hasty decisions?" her voice sounded clear and calm as if the peril had already past.

"Hasty? Alchantar waits for no one." He walked slowly, with small steps, thoughtful; then stopped to look at her. She hadn't even considered she might have offended him with such an ill placed remark.

"Maybe they are right and it is safer to stay here. By the time you reach them, it might be too late for many of your people."

"But not for all of them. Every life is precious." She came closer, still standing on that second step and when she got before him they were almost the same height. It had been a long while since she had looked him in the eye so openly; or perhaps it had never happened, she had just wished for it so strongly that in her mind she had had. The fear and adrenaline from minutes before now washed away from her blood stream, leaving her weakened and confused.

"How can you kill so ruthlessly and still praise life? Isn't life the same, for those you kill, for those you spare… for those you save?"

Khal stared emptily at her then his eyes came back to life.

"How can you?"

"I don't enjoy killing."

"But you've done it all the same and you'll do it again."

Her eyes flourished with tears; the guilt of the heavy words spoken in the other room overwhelmed her; but he didn't know and mistook her tears for something else.

"You can stay behind. I don't need you with me. Alchantar is answering my challenge."

"A challenge due to me." He sighed then kept quiet. "I know you don't need me. But if you _want_ me, I'll come with you."

He took just a tiny step closer clouding his eyes with her shadow and she felt that warm impulse in her chest again; where she wanted to kiss him and tuck those eyes away with a brush of her lips.

"I know people who can help."

"I need no more allies. I fight better alone. And Pentos should be kept out of this. No offense, but your people are made of peasants and nobility; and neither know how to fight."

"Why did the Wolofs come to you for alliance? Was it because of Pentos? Or was there more?"

He took a step back, his mouth sealed. She needn't know everything.

"That is not of your concern." He turned to leave to his quarters but she followed him hastily.

"Alchantar always had a grudge against – _my –_"she stopped abruptly, remembering who she was in his eyes. "—this small people in the woodland, the Tekaras." But his patience with her had run thin and now he was on his way. She chased him across the corridor, passing through the doors as they went. "You could find loyal people there who would serve you well!"

"Woman!" he turned around so abruptly she almost fell back and slipped on the floor. He caught her in time grabbing her by the shoulders. "Enough! You must know your place!"

"I do know my place! I am just giving you advice like your councilors!"

"My councilors have been chosen for a purpose, for they have lived long enough to see and hear much of this world!"

"Yet they know nothing of it out there!" Khal stood mesmerized with his fingers still clenched on her flesh. "They haven't seen the dry sand on the battle field crowded with crows and tore flags! They haven't smelled blood on their fingers! And I know they haven't shrouded the bodies of the lost ones, with faces cut and limbs gone…" she sobbed. Her eyes were watery again and he could not indulge her crying.

"I don't need lessons of war from a girl who has just tasted it and thinks she knows it all!"

"I don't pretend to know it all, but I surely know I crave for peace more than anything in the world and you, _men_, crave for revenge and to show your egos to the four winds more than you care for ending wars faster! And I am giving you that choice where you can get help and fight better, stronger for you and other peoples' sake! For a man of experience you don't know much yourself…" She jolted her body free from his grasp and took a step back, wiping her eyes clean. But he didn't give her the time to mourn for herself in pity; he grabbed her arm again forcing her to pay attention.

"Asking for help is not easy! People always want something in return. I count on myself to finish this, without putting my people in debt!" She paused for a brief moment. "And ego has nothing to do with this! I would rather stay behind and –" his thoughts got derailed by the sudden shiver in her soft lips and he knew what he'd do if he had had the chance to stay behind. "— and enjoy some peace and quiet for a change." His eyes fell on her body, caressing the curves showing from underneath her dress and it angered him to fall for her womanly tricks. He pulled on her arm again just for spike. "But not even my home offers me peace and quiet anymore since your endless chatter follows me everywhere!"

Leora didn't waste any time in showing her revolt. She fought him, hitting his arm with her other fist and he caught both her hands in an iron grip.

"Why won't you let me help you? Why won't you listen to me!" she struggled again with all her might and annoyed with her attempts he let go, enough to gloved her hands in his bringing them against his chest; she was pinned to him. "I know it's my fault, don't think I don't know that! You saw them, they blame me and they're right to do so…Let me help… let me…" the air pushed out of her nostrils like a mad woman; her cheeks were burning, her eyes were red and she was running out of breath. She gave up the struggle staring at his chest. It took her a moment but she looked up at him and the steeliness in his green eyes discouraged her more. He blamed her too. Khal felt her hands go soft in his but he didn't let go; he wished he crossed his fingers with hers and hold hands to feel her warmth. _What a stupid thought!_ He let go and turned around walking away.

"My…"_ Khalasar…_

Again the floor filled her eyes with its grey marble stare and she sat motionless, deaf and mute with just her faint heart beat to keep her company. Khal had disappeared in his chamber and the noise of the door slammed behind him set her in motion and she dragged her feet across the hall, aimlessly. Dilawar passed her by in a hurry. He bowed and fled to see his chieftain. She heard the knocking on the door but what she didn't see was the worried look he gave her right before stepping inside.

**WWWWWWW**

Cedric stood tall against the crazed wind battling through the forest, whipping the walls of his small village with angry tails of ice cold. Autumn was soon to come and the slow chill in the weather was settling in his soul as well. This prolonged peace and quiet since Leora had left annoyed him with an utter feeling of restlessness. It hovered above his head like a rainy cloud and he couldn't shake this dreadful feeling off, that something was happening somewhere, away and out of his control. He inhaled deeply and realized the tip of his nose was numb with the cold. His dry lips parted and saw the vapors of his hot breath lifting before his eyes, disappearing quickly in the shy light of the dawn. A few noises down at the gate forced him to step into the sober reality and leave all questions aside. Today was today and had to be lived as such. When tomorrow came he'd deal with it, one step at the time.

From the bottom of the stairs two mild green eyes were watching him straighten his back. Her irises mirrored the chestnut in the walnut trees lining at the border of the forest pushing the green back, like summer being chased away by the hands of fall. A stain of concern like rust on dyeing leaves; a spot of anguish blurred by the flash of passing hope, brightening the leftovers of green in her eyes. Nersin contemplated the man silently. _Her man._ She couldn't call him that; he wasn't hers even if she were his. But she didn't know what to call him anymore; she was caught in the middle, in their cat and mouse games. She heard a distant laughter and a quick smile broke through the numbness of her face listening to her brother play in the market. At least she had him to distract her from the want for Cedric. She looked at him again – he was now talking to one of the guards on duty. His arms, their strength and the warmth she craved for – she pulled her eyes away from it.

"Double the guards. Have three shifts at night. I want the men awake and sharp."

The soldier looked at him for a long while, longer than allowed and Cedric could read the unspoken questions in his regard.

"Yes General!" The soldier bowed and left feeling uneasy with the demand.

"Now why would you take the men from their families to put them up here, lonely and distraught when they could be in the arms of their women, keeping warm?"

"Is that all you think about? Women?"

Ortezza threw his big arms in the air waving them randomly, shadowing the creeping sun with his presence.

"What a heart of stone! Look out there! Just look!" he pushed Cedric grabbing him by the shoulders. The general placed his hands on the edge of the wall to keep his balance against the massive and uncontrolled force of his companion guiding his movements. "What do you see?"

"Nothing." And his linear tone only heightened the ironic enthusiasm in Ortezza's voice.

"Exactly! Nothing! No enemy knocking at the door, no predators lurking in the dark!" and his voice grew more annoyingly childish as he went on with his obvious complaints. "Then why should we not enjoy this time of peace and quiet? You make it look like we're expecting war upon us with this entire general attitude!"

"It so happens I am a general and I do not want us to be unprepared! Better guarded than left to the mercy of a surprise attack."

"Surprise attack from whom? Alchantar is far from here chasing away Leora into Drogo's realm!" his hands came up in the air again looking exasperated with Cedric's irrational convictions. "That should keep him busy for a while…" Ortezza turned around patting him on the shoulder and it looked more like poking coming from him. "Why don't you rest for a little, take it slowly." His eyes shifted to the bottom of the stairs at the young girl making her way slowly towards the children running mad and screaming in their chasing games. Cedric followed him staring at Nersin catching Dene as he passed her by; their laughter filled his ears and he looked away guiltily. "Cedric…"

But the general pulled away, not wanting to continue the conversation.

"Something is happening Ortezza and I don't know what it is. I worry for Leora; we haven't heard from her and after the news of her marriage to Drogo… I just don't know what to expect anymore. She went to battle not to…marriage." He searched for thoughts trying to put one and one together." And I do not trust Drogo's intentions. He took Alchantar for an ally. That should tell you something." His eyes frowned and the fire burning inside him was too much for the cold outside to cool down. "We must be prepared. This is not over."

Ortezza found something in his teeth and chewed on it slowly taking his time to perhaps get a vibe of this premonition affecting his friend. He swallowed in.

"You know I am here." And he said in a way that assured Cedric of his promise and the general smiled not wanting to give in to his dark feelings.

"Yes. You're here… when you're not with your women!"

"Ah, for the Mighty Powers who put frost in your chest and locks to your manhood, boy!" Ortezza pushed him away and Cedric barely contained from pushing him back ending like the small boys harassing each other in the market. "At least if I go, I go happy!" and Cedric smiled again; whenever he spoke like a childish fool Ortezza seemed to change accent a bit sounding like the merchants on the trading roads and it amused him - powerful and lisp. He watched him go down the stairs, shifting his round belly left to right as if he showed his pride around. It had never occurred to him how Orteza ever managed to pee when he couldn't see down there; less do anything else with his pecker. He chuckled surprised with his own thoughts and turned around to pierce in the horizon again. The sun had made its way through the morning fog and now it fought the cold with blades of shine and sparkle. He sighed and listened to her distant laughter. He wished he had dropped it all to run to her. To – _to what?_ – he clenched his fists not wanting to answer that question, not even in his head. He stared into the sun; he hoped it would blind him, bleaching the darkness he felt creeping in his heart.

**WWWWWWW**

He smelled the air like a hound with his nostrils swollen from inhaling off short but fast flames of hot air. The prairie was burning around him, from the afternoon sun and from the fire he had set on the Dothraki village.

"My Lord! We are ready to move!" his general waited behind him, trying to keep his horse calm but the fire rising high into the sky burnt the animal making it restless.

Alchantar Wolof looked back at the straw roofs collapsing under the hungry mouth of the fire; but somehow he couldn't even grin. His face had gone numb and in the back of his head he knew it was fear – fear gripping on his back, sinking its teeth in his heart, pushing inside him ready to break his will. He knew Drogo had to be close; he knew the word had scattered as to his deeds and that soon the Dothraki armies would fall upon him like the high tide of the sea when swirled by the heavy hand of the Powers. He breathed in, deep but quiet and turned his hoarse around leaving the fire behind him to consume the small village to the ground.

"My Lord?..." the general followed him hastingly, not knowing what to make of his silence.

"We need a place to camp for tonight. Find one."

"My King I don't think it's wise to stop now that we've gone this far. We would be a sitting target for the Dothraki. We're getting closer."

But Alchantar reined his hoarse as if he didn't hear him.

"Drogo will come for us with all he has, out here in open field. He has no fear. This is his land. The men must rest." He spoke slowly, tired and thoughtful. _Or perhaps he will sneak behind our backs and use just a few men and save most of army for later…_ Drogo was like the wind and he took a wild guess trying to think of what his actions might be. The burning revenge that had seared through his veins when leaving the Dothraki palace was now fading away, leaving him alone to face the consequences of his impulsive acts. He frowned and the pain in between his eyebrows reminded him of the scar he now had to bare for the rest of his life and that revenge kicked back in; yet – not as powerful. _I am but a man…_ And it unnerved him to be weak, to be human and limited. He wished he had the power of the Gods for just a moment to strike down without remorse those who had troubled him. He turned his head slightly feeling the fire still warming his cheek from afar. Not many had troubled him; in fact he had sought for trouble himself. Sometimes he blamed the powers for having made him such a vengeful thrill seeking man. He looked down at his hands clutching on the leather reins. The bloody spots, the muddy smears, the ashes mingled with the sweat – it's all he knew. Some men were destined to be mean; some had to be Hell for others to reach Heavens. He was bred for evil and his excuse was he had come to terms with his fate. He smirked looking away, letting himself be carried by the slow steps of the horse. The best part of it all was that he was enjoying it.

"My Lord…" His general gave up trying. If Drogo was indeed planning on taking them upfront then they had to find a secluded spot to keep the men and horses safe. He looked around; tall grass and barren trees, scorched by the sun. Red soil dusting their feet as they dragged them across these forsaken lands; there was nowhere to hide. The general went round and round with his horse looking for nothing in particular. They had to march forward and hope for the dark to hide their presence among the shifting grass.

The noise of the crumbling houses invaded his ears, releasing a cold sweat down his spine. The Dothraki had been ferocious in their defense; men and women alike. The general rode behind Alchantar, watching him stand relaxed in the saddle as if he was strolling through the Sunday market. He swallowed in dry; if a small gathering like that had nailed to the ground a quarter of his fully armed men, he feared Khal's unleashed army would push them into the claws of death before the wake of dawn. He looked above the heads of the soldiers; the air lingered in waves of heat hurting the dusty trees and lean grass; the red flags no longer stood tall, cradled on the shoulders of the exhausted men forcing one leg to follow the other in what had been a march and continuous battle for days. He had to find a spot where they could rest. Rest… his eyes closed for just a moment and the smell of his acid sweat flirted with his senses and he choked on it. He tried opening his eyes but his body begged to keep them closed; he dangled slightly in the saddle. They needed rest… he needed…

**WWWWWWW**

"My Khalasar, the men are getting ready. I have sent word for all women and children to be escorted outside the palace." He silenced thinking whether voicing his worries out loud would make his Khal angrier than he already was.

With his head lowered and his shoulders heavy from the weight of the news, Drogo awaited for Dilawar to continue. The soft breeze of the sea barely made it caressing his face softly, almost hypnotizing him. He felt tired and the day had just begun. He wished to turn his head around and inspect his servant to find the reason behind his silence but it seemed to take too much of his energy to move or speak so he remained with his hands pinned on the columns of the terrace. His muscles tense, startling here and there with the pressure, making the slick blue stripes flex along his shoulder blades like serpents.

"What is it Dilawar?" his voice sounded broken and he wasn't sure it travelled across the room to reach his man.

"If I may my Khalasar…" his eyes rolled a few times, in agitation as if the words he needed were written on the floor waiting to be read. "Are all these measures necessary? It's frightening the people. The children… The elders don't want to leave."

Drogo didn't speak; he took a deep breath in and it hurt him inside.

"But are the elders urging the women to go? Are they urging them to take the children, even if they stay behind? Parents, brothers, sisters – family."

"Yes my Khalsar." But he didn't go on. He had seen Drogo grow, turning from a crazed disobedient boy into a man who used his early teachings and mistakes to the benefit of his people. And at times he spoke in riddles and so Dilawar waited for him to finish.

"They've seen wars and how they happen; they've lived long enough to know it is never too soon to take care of your future. Our women and children are the future." He turned around resting against the column, playing with the tip of his tail, rotating the small blue hair pins, caught up in his own turmoil. Dilawar had not seen him so innocent in his worries since he had been a boy and his father had entrusted him with chores he thought he couldn't care for. "We, men – die." He sighed almost imperceptibly. "Weather for a good cause or not, we die, we leave them behind to struggle alone, care for our house, our children." He threw the tail behind, stretching his neck and straightening his shoulders as if suddenly his words had added strength to his earlier decision. "Wolof will harm everyone in his path; he rides fast driven by revenge. He will be upon us soon. But not soon enough."

"My Khalasar –"but he stopped abruptly not knowing how to plead for his attention and consideration. Khal's eyes fell upon him, untrusting and waiting. "Maybe the Khaalesi is right and we should seek alliance with someone else. If we are to be weakened now by this war, then what of Pentos, what of the smaller tribes who have for years, been under our protection?" Drogo heard the precaution in his voice and surprised him with a calm answer.

"You must have not heard me before. Look what happened to our last alliance."

"I dare say my Khalasar you never looked upon the Wolofs as allies, but merely as a reason to go to Pentos."

"My reasons were just. Alchantar was right; Pentos had taken over the rights to trade and without a leader the nobles have helped impoverish our tribes and those outside the walls of the mighty Westeros Throne." He paused taking in as much air as he could in one breath; it was difficult admitting out loud his thoughts about this entire adventure. "I have indeed used the Fire Tribe as an excuse to do something I've always wanted to do; they just gave me the way. They opened the path to fight for what's rightfully ours."

"I have never doubted your intentions my Sun, nor do I –"he broke his speech deliberately "– nor do I doubt your judgment and confidence in our fellow tribes."

"Why do you seek to convince me into accepting this offer? The Tekaras are small and insignificant, useless to such a great cause."

"Yet, it is for the small and insignificant that you started this quest in the first place or am I mistaken?"

"You should have been born a noble and sit at my side with your wits and quick tongue Dilawar." Khal surfaced a shadowy smile but his eyes warmed up to the sight of his faithful servant and follower.

"But I was born a noble my Khalasar." And his trusting smile spoke of the nobility lying in his heart not in the ranks on his shoulders or the seal incrusted in his jewels. Drogo sighed; he could not break the law and bring people born in servitude to higher ranks. The rules had been set in place for a reason and he was bound to obey by them, but secretly he trusted his heart in choosing the men he took advice from.

"Yes you were." He pushed himself away from the column taking small steps towards the table where he had his leather bracelets hanging from a wooden support. He touched them randomly, one by one, walking his hand on the soft material, obviously driven away by his thoughts and questions. "So you say I trust her?" His voice sounded so mild Dilawar barely heard him speak.

"I say so, my Sun."

"Maybe you don't know what I know." His hand stopped its caress abruptly falling on the side of his body; numb, to then stiffen suddenly with the memory of the truth about her; who she was – her lies. _Why do you want me there?_... He knew the Tekaras were her people, her _true_ people. Still, against all these worries his brain poisoned his soul with, the heart remained calm as if no cloud, no thunder could stir the deep sea pooling in his chest. And that worried him more than her proposition to him. His eyes wondered across the walls, getting lost in the shifting light of the afternoon tracing shadows that disappeared faster than he could blink. _Woman…_

"But I do know what you know." Dilawar's voice came as a cold shower forcing him back into their conversation. Khal smiled absent-mindedly and turned to face him.

"And what do I know about her?" And for a moment his eyes sparked with interest and amusement at the same time for Dilawar could never guess the secret his wife had.

"I know she was made for you." But Khal did not expect this answer; perhaps some rational reasons and explanations as to their political marriage, her boldness and lack of obedience as to his house and rules, but not that. "She is your Moon and I believe that with all my might."

Khal did not betray his surprise.

"The Sun and the Moon do not live together for they have been separated by the Gods for a reason. So am I and her… separated."

"I think, my Khalasar, you misinterpret the will of the Gods." Drogo's eyebrows arched in wonder, a little ironic yet still interested. "The Sun and the Moon are not two different things, but they are one. One is the mirror of the other, for the Moon even though smaller and less luminous, is nothing else but another Sun. The midnight sun." And for the first time Dilawar forgot about his servitude and took a step closer towards his chieftain, bringing his arms high in the air to draw the magic circles of the celestial Gods, showing his Khal how their beauty was created. "The Sun guides us, people during the day, warms us and provides life to our crops. Yet at night it is the Moon that shelters us from the abyss darkness, guiding our dreams in the realm beyond the closed eyelids, cultivating our spirit, soothing the mind. And be ware that the Moon struggles to always reach for her Sun, to always match his beauty and his might. Now it is but a quarter, now it is a half. And after much toil it finally rounds to eclipse above the land, round and full like her Sun."

He stopped abruptly as if he realized how he must've looked like a fool before his Khalasar looking at him attentively, but silent.

"You are right Dilawar. I guide my people and she guides hers; that's why we are here today."

"You are here today because you both want the same thing and you both fight for it. What would the day be without the night – rivers would dry from too much heat, crops would die from the draught, our skin would melt under the scorching sun."

"Your riddles do not confuse me, Dilawar." Khal smiled and patted his servant on the shoulder passing him by to go meet his generals; somehow their conversation had brightened his spirits.

"The Tekaras might be small my Khalasar, but they have withstand their ground before the Wolofs many times."

"You do not want to let this go, do you?" Khal opened the door, glancing at him over the shoulder.

"If I had given up before, I wouldn't have the privilege of my Sun listening to my humble words right now."

Drogo's eyes filled with appreciation and as he left Dilawar behind, he felt as if the decision had been taken for him; or maybe it was him using the servant's words as an excuse to empower her proposition. He walked in silence on the long corridor, listening to his own steps. And as he reached the small terrace towards the back garden he looked through the columns at the immense skies and his face froze, his lips numb, his heart throbbing with an eerie pulsation. Beyond the mighty sun, the Moon stood pale, resting at his side from afar, as if mirrored in the light blue of the godly ocean above his head; mirrored from across time, tender and fragile. He took another step, going around another column and the two stars followed him quietly. He had only seen them together when he was a small boy, at the crack of dawn and they always looked as if they were saying good bye. The sun being pushed up the sky, the Moon being swallowed into her dyeing night. _Separated_. He rested against a column contemplating the magic before his eyes; he did not believe in signs. He only believed in fate and the way his two hands could wheel the will of Gods to bring his life to a purposeful end. He disliked the idea of someone else deciding his path, be that the Mighty Powers or otherwise. Her brown stare fixing him had taken away even that peace of mind he was left with after marrying her. He didn't know who she was but he wasn't bothered by it so much; not anymore. It irritated him. _Argh, woman you brought the storm in my head!_ He hurried away from the predestined scenery floating in the wind above the sea and stepped hard, crossing the threshold back into his human worry filled world- his generals were waiting in the throne room. And so was she.

**WWWWWWW**

These places looked unfamiliar to him; he had never traveled so far South. Drogo looked around curiously, his senses sharp, his hands gripping on the reins. But the horse moved steadily sinking its hooves in the dewy grass. The fog was raising high above the thick forest and the air felt warm and sticky. He sweated and it was strange, sliding secretively on his skin, in small hidden drops he felt running down his scalp and he twisted his head around as to chase them away. He wasn't used to being marinated slowly in his own perspiration; on the Dothraki shores the sun shone high in the sky scorching his breath and drying his veins, the water in his body evaporated without him feeling it. But now this slow awkward torture – he disliked –taking his focus away and he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand annoyed with the sensation. He should have focused on other more important things than the discomfort of the local weather. Still he had to admit to the beauty of the scenery. It was nothing like the tall burnt grass in the prairies in his home land. The Tekaras seemed to live in a spirited tapestry, shifting at every step and it enchanted his senses.

He looked in the distance and saw the small fortress these people called home: Uyack, the last stand of the Tekaras against enemies like Alchantar Wolof. He felt the need to dismount and walk barefoot in the refreshing dark green grass, to sooth his anxiety, but he glimpsed at her, motionless in the saddle and he became more curious with looking at her face than experiencing her territory. He kicked in the horse and got nearer; she didn't seem to observe him but he insisted to distract her from her thoughts. Leora turned around slowly and her eyes stared at him ghostly, bearing the dark marks of sleepless nights and the exhaustion of their long march. Almost a week and a half of continuous riding. He swallowed in drily feeling guilty for not having given her enough time to rest. But she knew this maneuver would have to be done fast; their war strategy was fragile and could break down any moment. His men could not sabotage the Wolofs army endlessly without being eventually subdued. His mind ran wild for a moment with bits and parts of their hasty plans and with the consequences therefore. His eyes fell on her again and he knew for a moment he had to look just as ghostly as she did. Still, the life pouring back in his irises revived her as well and they found themselves staring at each other with their bodies dancing silently to the steps of their horses and the distance between them grew smaller. Khal bent a little in the saddle tricked by her pale face and the illusion of her breath on his face. Her eyes widened, with a flicker of acknowledgement as they got closer and she felt a knot in her stomach seeing those green eyes rummaging in her soul an inch away from hers. Their legs touched rubbing against each other as the horses almost collided and Leora bounced a bit landing her temple on his lips and he grabbed her arm to push her back in the saddle. He jolted being pulled out of his hypnosis and found it hard to focus on anything afterwards. Khal pulled his horse away still bearing her smell in his nostrils. A deep growl surfaced his lips and he closed his mouth shut annoyed with always falling for her little innocent traps. He didn't know her, he couldn't trust her. _She's lying to me, every day she's lying to me._ His heart saddened for he knew he was on his way to meet her true people, the people she never talked about, the people she kept hidden from him. _Traitor torturous woman that you are, punished be you by the Gods for doing this to me!_ Khal pulled on the reins abruptly bringing the horse to a halt. His fingers dug deep in the eye sockets until it hurt, angered with his childish complaints. He could have ended this torment the night he found out about her treachery but instead he decided to play along – _you shortsighted horse!_ _Stop whining about your own deeds and live with what you've done!_ – he shook his head. It hurt to want her and now he was on the brink of falling into pieces like clothing no longer fitting the same body and coming apart at the seams with too much confusion, anger and anguish. His mind was a boiling pot and he feared his decisions were nothing more than poisonous vapors of his incoherent mixture of thoughts and they would damage his people. And she was the spice – _evil seed!_ – that made him burn.

"My Khalasar!..." one of his generals approached him cautiously. He was left behind with the men marching ahead. Khal took a moment to clear his head and look him in the eyes. The general fell back in his saddle with not enough room in between to avoid Drogo's menacing look.

"Keep going!" his voice cut through the soldier's flesh and he urged his horse to gallop away from his chieftain and back to the safety of the small army traveling in formation towards their destination.

Leora overheard the conversation and glanced over her shoulder enough to catch Drogo's eye and she shivered inside with the spears thrown her way. Not even Alchantar had made her blood freeze that way – but then again no man had ever made it boil like Khal did. She frowned until it hurt, with her chin up and her lips narrowed to the point where they formed an almost invisible line on her face. She was guilty – guilty for lying to him – but other than the circumstances having forced her to take her sister's place – it was all true. Her eyebrows softened and her eyes relaxed, the shoulders fell lower and her hands lost their powerful grip on the reins. _Not everything is a lie… don't –_

"My Khaleesi! We should stop." The general caught up with her and almost forced her to follow him. "We should be careful." She didn't understand at first; this was home, this was her people, there was nothing to be afraid of. And then it struck her that they didn't know; to Daenerys Targaryen the Tekaras should have been nothing but a small tribe living secluded in the southern woodland. Leora buried her eyes in the crest of the animal; she had been mistaken in trying to convince the Khal to seek alliance with her people. She forgot who she was in his eyes and that Daenerys would have never counted on such a puny army to stand by the Dothraki and especially not against the Wolofs. But she had never considered her sister's point of view; she was not good at faking who she was. Or perhaps she cared too much what he thought of her to lie to him about her true self. She may have bore a different name in his mind but she wanted to let Leora shine through the mists of her lost sister. She remembered him calling her Daenerys one time… one time alone and back then it did not harm her as she was too desperate to have his attention, but now it hurt her that his lips had never spelt her name. She glimpsed back at him riding proud in the middle of their small army and she wondered guiltily how it would Leora soundcoming from his mouth.

"Halt!" his strong voice startled her and she hurried to make her horse obey his command. A few feet away the tall walls of her home stood guard against the likes of her – she breathed in slowly with tears in her eyes – traitors, weak and debilitated beings – that's how she felt. It had been many weeks since she had set foot inside their tiny market, since she had listened to Ortezza's thick voice telling inappropriate war jokes. Since she had laid eyes upon Cedric… The flags fluttered silently above their heads and she watched them from afar, like a stranger.

**WWWWWWW**

"Now I have lived long enough!" Ortezza slid down the wall, breathing heavily as if the weight of the stones was now pushing on his shoulders. He let the air go out slowly to then take a deep breath, then again let it roll out slowly, to take a chest full of cold evening air.

"Stop it." Cedric looked at him commandingly. "You look like a woman ready to give birth. Contain yourself."

"Khal Drogo is at our gates! Have you seen that?" and the irritation in his voice and hectic gestures made Ortezza sound louder than he actually was and Cedric pushed him back on the pavement. Then he stood up a bit to look between the stones at the small army waving the white flag at them. His heart beat faster with the sight of her. She seemed changed; she looked different from the distance.

"We should open the gates!" now Ortezza seemed excited and he stood up ready to go. But Cedric didn't hurry to follow.

"I don't know…" his eyes went on piercing down at the small crowd of savage looking soldiers and their chieftain shadowing the ground with his black stallion and mighty posture. _Khal Drogo…_ Something punched him in the stomach, it felt that choking and sickening to have the man who'd married Leora a few steps away from him. And knowing he could die trying to get her back. He worried still for her, for her well being; he didn't want her to suffer at the hands of a violent man with a glorious past. She didn't want that, he knew it for sure. He stood up a bit, resenting his loss of feelings towards her. Now someone else was warming his heart.

"That's Khal Drogo sitting there! And that's our girl!"

Cedric let go of worries and memories and looked at him, insecure but ready.

"Our leader Ortezza, don't forget that." He passed the general by and went down the stairs to order the guards to clear the way for the new comers. Ortezza took a look back at their visitors and then it flared through his mind like lit arrows flying across the dark skies.

"Cedric! Cedric, damn it! Wait!" he pulled up on his round belly like a maiden pulling on her too long dress and ran heavily after his brother in arms. "She's not – Cedric!"

"What?!" Cedric turned around right before the gate keepers annoyed with the most likely, useless intervention.

"She's not our girl…" he pushed down on his knees with his hands, bending over to stop the burning in his lungs. The sweat coming down his temples made it hard for him to focus but he succeeded looking Cedric in the eyes and if he hadn't known him for years he would have been scared. He sighed."… our leader…King… you know…"

"Ortezza, one of these days –"

But Ortezza shoved his palm right in his eyes stopping him rudely.

"Would you let me finish _general_!" He stood up, arranging his belly to then continue. "Leora is Daenerys and we better not call her otherwise." And Cedric looked stunned. Since the battle he had forgotten about such details and had only been worried with keeping his people safe, fed and their needs supplied. Now he had to find the mental strength to face a terrible man like Drogo and remember not to betray his commander. He bit on his fist thinking fast, trying to solve this matter rapidly.

"Run to the hall and dismiss all the servants. Keep only the old ones and tell them what they have to do or say. Forbid them to answer any questions." He paced back and forth quickly. "Forbid them to talk as it is! The people don't know! _The people don't know_!" How could he hide this now, how could he prevent them from falling at her feet happy to see their commander back, with Drogo there, to watch her betrayal?

"I think –"

"I'll think of something. Go do as I said! I'm counting on you Ortezza! Now go!"

Ortezza left a bit confused but soon enough he ran as fast as his chubby legs helped him. Cedric turned towards the gate and he wished it took the soldiers a long time to open them. He looked up at the sky. The sun was setting; maybe if he had stalled long enough it would be dark and he could hide their small convoy from curious eyes and with a bit of luck, they would survive the Dothraki unexpected visit. "_Stupid, stupid man_!" he poke himself in the head for being dumb enough to not consider such a disastrous scenario. He breathed in – the gates opened slowly and he straightened his shoulders, ready to meet his new fate.

**WWWWWWW**

"Well that's a mighty welcoming committee…" Khal's voice had lost that edge of harshness from before resonating with irony as to the one man party approaching them. Leora did not respond; she had recognized Cedric and the dizziness her heart beat created in her head prevented her from speaking. She didn't know what to expect from across the walls; the gate to her old home had suddenly turned into trap doors and she cursed the day she wasn't given enough wisdom to think of all details in advance. Now she had to fear entering her own home just because she had been stupid enough to neglect such a possibility. And thinking she had brought Drogo along into this story. She puffed to the side, trying to hide the anger that now surged in her eyes. _It's what you get for being stupid!_

Cedric stopped before them and bowed and there was a silence as thick as the fog now crawling into the night sky. And none moved or said something. He stood and looked at the Dothraki before him, his eyes falling slowly from one soldier to another until they finally rested on Khal Drogo. He looked more fierce and cruel from close than from the safety of his walls; still, the image of him blurred slightly when she kicked in her horse to meet him. His lips opened to then close just as quickly, but he needed that gasp of air. Leora didn't look like Leora anymore and he couldn't help staring. She had her long hair braided to the side of her temples, letting the rest of it swirl freely down her shoulders to her waist. Her face just as pale, but her eyes wider and brighter. Her clothes were different, like nothing he'd ever seen before. A white cloth wrapped around her chest, exposing her small round shoulders and the sweetness of those long collar bones of hers; the muscles in his jaw flickered unobserved. And even though the veils of her dress embraced her ankles, with the way she rode the material had slid high up on her skin revealing a sinuous path to her thighs; this was no longer the innocent woman he had once known. There was something untamed about her now and his eyes switched back to Drogo and he found himself staring into the Khalasar's green eyes with undisclosed questions that found no answer. Drogo's stallion rummaged through the ground nervously distracting Cedric from his contemplation and he took a step back.

"I am Cedric Gaëlle, General in the Tekara army and defender of these lands. How may I be of service to you?"

Khal said nothing; he just kept his eyes on Cedric for a long moment until he finally looked at Leora demanding her that she answers for him. After all, it had been her that brought them there.

"General Gaëlle, I am Daenerys Targaryen, princess and heir of the Westeros Throne and this is Khal Drogo, Chieftain and Khalasar of the Dothraki tribe and my husband. We come in peace." It was her turn to ask Drogo for approval for what she was about to say and Khal nodded gently. "We seek help."

Cedric took a moment to ready his tongue for her name.

"I am most honored to receive the Westeros heir in our humble home as I am to meet the infamous Khalasar. Your name precedes you." But his personal remark together with a well intended regard, did not earn him anything from the Khal who remained just as neutral to his speech. "But I should wonder how such a small people like ours could help a mighty kingdom and our most famous tribe?"

"Perhaps if you offered us shelter for the night and a warm meal we could let you know on our story and then you'll understand."

Khal remained silent and Cedric became more nervous with his ignorance towards the discussion. His Dothraki were also watching him closely and his discomfort reached alarming levels. He thought he heard something – he looked back promptly and saw Ortezza trying to slow down his breathing and take a more dignifying posture as he approached them.

Leora looked away hiding her smile in the falling darkness. _Ortezza…_ and her mind smiled where her face couldn't.

"My apologies my lords, I am general Ortezza, at your service."

"This village seems to have many generals, but no commander."

His voice put ice in their souls and fire in their veins; Leora turned towards Drogo ready to defend her generals but she knew there was nothing she could do. His stare was all-telling and it raised more worries in her troubled mind.

"Our commander has been indisposed lately, with a frail health and has sought help with other –" he looked for it quickly in his brain "- tribes."

Ortezza looked at Cedric sheepishly, keeping his head bowed to avoid the others seeing his surprise to the general's quick thinking. Leora did a bit better and took advantage of the small lie to regain power over the conversation.

"Indeed I have heard of her poor health. I wish she had come to us. I would have made sure she got the best of healers."

"Very kind my lady."

Khal turned towards her, with a smile in the corner of his lips. She was playing her role by the letter and it amused him to see her be Daenerys in her own home and still wondered how he wasn't thinking of cutting her head off. But he brushed the thought of – he was simply amused with the game and enjoyed making things difficult for her. Just the way she had made them for him.

"She? A woman in command?"

Cedric looked at Leora and she jumped to his help.

"Yes, Leora Stekara." And her voice ended rather abruptly when she spoke of herself as of someone else. "Daughter of Captain Dascara, former commander of Uyack. Unfortunately, I have been told the captain has left this world to join the ancestors, a while ago." And even though she kept her head high, her voice turned flat and it was the best she could do to keep her sadness at bay."Having no male heirs, Leora was next in line so she took the responsibility upon her; like me."

"Women are weak in command." Khal looked at her digging through her head. "They reason with their hearts." He paused and smiled. "So do you."

"Not this one." And perhaps he was too hasty to interrupt Drogo, but Cedric didn't regret it. He had finally got his attention. But Khal considered best to refrain from any further comments and relaxed in the saddle, offering them a chance to continue. Leora took a deep silent breath and went on addressing the two generals.

"Indeed. She was introduced to me by Jorah at the court, a little while ago. She told me of her small people. And she told me of their greatness in the battle against the Wolofs."

Cedric did his best to act surprised but Ortezza was by far the worst actor or imitator and he looked confused at both of them.

"The Wolofs, my Lady?"

Khal shifted position in the saddle, a sign that he was being tired of staying there, in the middle of the field like a simple passerby and wished for more.

"Perhaps we should continue our discussions inside, if you please."

Cedric hurried to apologize and almost ran into Ortezza as he wondered aimlessly and clumsily around him. The small army followed them and as they closed in to the gates Cedric looked at Ortezza intensely, afraid of what might await for them inside. But the small town looked deserted. The windows were closed, the torches were unlit, the guards were all gone and even Cedric remained mesmerized at the sight. He looked at the general inquisitively and Ortezza stepped closer to whisper.

"I ordered the men to spread the word that we might have hidden enemies visiting the village and that it is better to stay inside." Cedric looked horrified. His lips moved and Ortezza knew it wasn't to say something nice but eventually he was happy Cedric didn't get a chance to talk, with the Dothraki keeping close.

The doors to the throne hall opened wide and Nersin bowed together with one other older lady, the only servant in the house Ortezza trusted with keeping the secret. Cedric glanced quickly at the redheaded then made room for their guests to come inside. As he closed the doors behind the massive men he took one last look at their horses tight in front of the stairs. They seemed agitated.

The sound of the doors closing brought chills down her spine and Leora glimpsed at Khal's men taking a strategic position around the room. These people were not bred to trust other people and she could see it in the way they inspected the place, how suspicious they were of everyone coming in and out of the room. Khal alone sat down at the long wooden table she had once dined at and it made her lower her eyes to the sweet-bitter memory.

Cedric and Ortezza hurried to sit as well, across the table to take a better look at the most feared man in the land, the chieftain everyone had heard of but from the sword of whom only few ever survived to tell stories. Leora walked gently around the table coming at Drogo's side and Cedric looked away for a moment still unable to accept the change.

"I ought to congratulate you on behalf of our people and our commander on your fortunate union." His smile seemed sincere enough and Khal smiled in return but there was something cold and suspicious about it and Ortezza soon gave up trying to refresh the atmosphere.

"Daenerys told me of your long history with the Wolofs." Khal waited for them to acknowledge her name and observed them patiently for any sign of anxiety. And it almost made him laugh to see their faces so petrified with a barren smile of acceptance; but he could tell they weren't used to playing theatrical roles, especially with Leora before their eyes.

"Yes…" Ortezza came back to his senses much faster than Cedric, even though his voice was too weak to be heard.

"You must be tired and hungry from the long journey. Let us dine first and talk later." Cedric took the reins of the conversation wanting to postpone things for a little, enough for everyone to get accustomed to Leora and her new role at Drogo's side.

"There is no time." And his words silenced them all. Leora sighed swiftly, but nodded.

"My Sun is right." Khal turned around abruptly to look at her as if those words out of her mouth, in the middle of all this, sounded strange. Yet she had said it with such conviction and simplicity it did not make him doubt of her intentions. She was trying to help and set things in motion, for she was well aware of the frailty of their plans. "There is no time. As we speak, a handful of our people are making their way towards the Wolof camp and I can only hope they can hold on until reinforcements arrive." She paused looking and both Cedric and Ortezza while Khal sat back in his chair pleasantly surprised with the solid bond she had with her generals. In an instant he remembered her on the battle field, her determination and skills and in the pit of his heart he felt proud. He looked away. _Why are you lying to me?_ "But it is best that the Khalasar explains more."

With his eyes still lowered on the wooden table, Khal smiled listening to her. She was learning to know her place and not always be in control. His eyebrows came up ironically, but amused and searched for her eyes and she sustained his look for a while, but eventually she gave up, betrayed by a mild rush of blood in her cheeks.

"I am sure you know of Jorah Mormont, do you not?"

"Yes my lord, we do." Ortezza wasn't familiar with the ways you call upon the Khalasar but Drogo did not pay attention to details; not now.

"He was the one that advised on our marriage." Khal bent over the table bringing his hands together, not knowing what to begin with first. "I have come with war upon Pentos annoyed with the way they had taken over our trading routes. Not knowing that Daenerys was already fighting her war inside to bring nobility to its knees and set things right. Or so I have been told by Mormont." He skipped a breath then looked at the two generals. "The consequences of their selfish deeds must have hit hard here in Uyack as well."

"Very much so, Khalasar." The two men crossed regards and Khal read a faint trace of coldness in Cedric's voice and in the back of his mind he wondered whether the general had been something more than a protector in Leora's life. The feeling displeased him, stirred him and he shifted position in the chair, in discomfort. Then he came forward placing his both hands on the table, demanding and decisive.

"I sought to bring justice to my people and to our tribes." Ortezza nodded vigorously, admitting to his justification. "And I had Alchantar Wolof at my side, for he seemed to see the same values."

"Alchantar has no values other than the value of money and gold to fill his treasury."

Khal kept silence for a while.

"I know. Unfortunately, at times we must forge alliances with the enemy for a greater good."

Cedric came closer to the Khal, placing his hands before him, tightly knotted, just like his, and stared in the green forests now troubled with winds of mistrust and Ortezza swallowed in difficultly. Leora didn't move but worried that Cedric would lose his spirit and become unreasonable.

"And has the greater good been achieved?" The question was undoubtedly intended to the Khalasar, cold, implacable and ironical.

"It has." And Leora needed to intervene before it got out of hand, especially when Ortezza chose to stay safely away from the two men's inner conflict.

"And now the greater good has to be defended."

Drogo fell back in his chair, holding on to his superior attitude while Cedric went back to a more relaxed attitude little by little, still warning Khal of their games not being over.

"Alchantar Wolof should have never been trusted."

Ortezza wondered whether Cedric wished to die young for otherwise he didn't understand the reason why he'd go on challenging the Khal.

"I used him to –"

"Do the greater good."

Ortezza was baffled by Cedric's temporarily insanity. Leora eyed him persistently but Cedric avoided everyone's look upon him. He did not care, he felt it in his blood to see what the man was made of, and if he was worth the legend they'd written of him. Khal looked at Leora with inquisitive eyes, almost asking her what to do; kill her general or leave. There was no middle way. What he didn't expect was the adamant support he got from her.

"General Gaëlle this is not the time for wars of ego or for your trials of manhood! There is no time to dwel on the past either! There is peace in the North and the West and there shall be peace in the South if only we find friends among strangers and fight the powers of the East. Alchantar will come this way again, it's just a matter of time!" her tone left both her generals speechless, but Khal most of all. His eyes fell on her little hand resting on his shoulder, with her fingernails slightly digging in his skin and he straightened his shoulders to give her support as she stood up to make a point. His eyes lit with pride but he wasn't aware of his body mirroring the growing love in his soul. "Drogo has done things the way he considered best and at the time I do not believe any of us would have done it differently. More so, now we all stand to benefit from his dead with little bloodshed." She pushed the chair aside and paced back and forth around the table, behind Cedric and Ortezza, but keeping her eyes on Khal. "Sir Mormont has told me about your brave wars and great resilience against Alchantar and that is why we are here today, to form an alliance that would help us defeat this pest and help you bring an end to your ordeal with the Fire Tribe."

"Alchantar knew the war against Pentos would not win him anything. He benefitted from higher taxes, he scrambled the merchant roads in search of the caravans, to plunder and kill. He must've had other plans…" Cedric looked at Khal again and Leora felt the tension rising. "… that you didn't know of."

"Alchatnar never had my trust, but I knew that once we got reed of the infectious rule in Pentos I would have the time to deal with him."

Cedric's eyes sparkled ironically; obviously Alchantar was anything but under control once they were sitting at the same table discussing alliances, but he didn't dare say it out loud. But Drogo was no fool. He stood up and the sheer size of him made Ortezza bend backwards to look at him; Cedric remained still.

Leora breathed in quickly and came between the two camps trying to appease this growing battle.

"If Alchantar is at war now, it is not for gold or fame. It is for revenge." The generals stared at each other for a short moment. After the Wolof had gone chasing Leora they were left clueless as to the outcome of their little plan so now Drogo got their attention when he took over from Leora.

"Alchantar came to my house and insulted my—"he stopped abruptly looking at Leora who was now out of breath. In her heart she had become too torn and scared with him being in her home, so close to the truth and it was killing her inside with desperation. Her eyes widened as she fixed him, waiting for him to speak. "—he insulted my… Moon." Her eyes betrayed that longing of hearing him say again _my woman_, but the soft way he spoke about her soothed her anxiety nonetheless and she buried her eyes in the floor to appease her heart beat and regain her breath.

Cedric saw her inner struggle and felt bad for stirring Khal more and making it so difficult for her to face her old family and wield her way back into her house after so long. He looked at her, slowly, as if his regard could have harmed her. _Did Alchantar say anything to Drogo?_ He looked at Khal still keeping his eyes on her and he was taken aback with the shade of trust and tenderness hidden in Khal's look, but he did not want to trust that illusion of love he witnessed. _Did Alchantar make it in time for the wedding after all?_

Khal went back to his seat and Leora came at his side as if nothing had happened but Cedric had by now seen how things had changed and could not ignore it. They had learnt of the unexpected wedding from the merchants coming from Pentos and it continued to be the favorite bed time story for many of the villagers in Uyack. He did not know how it had come to such a union or why Leora had accepted it, but for the first time he realized how small and insignificant he was in her life and how their lives had changed. The day Jorah Mormont came for her, that's when he had become useless to her, now that she'd have all the protection and care she'd ever need. _And all the love…_ He looked at them again. As odd as it may have seemed, as unbelievable as many saw it, their marriage seemed to be more than a political arrangement. They spoke with their eyes and random touches; it was a fragile thread that tied them together, but he could see it. Cedric took a deep breath of air; a mug of wine got put before him and as the shadow beside him didn't go away he raised his eyes to see Nersin watching him. Her vivid look and crooked but scared smile made his heart twitch and beat again with renewed warmth and faith. The same unseen thread was tying him to her soul. He had to reconsider his attitude towards the Khalasar; it would have benefited them all.

"My Khalasar, forgive me for being so… intruding. Your name precedes you and I stand corrected in my words and actions, now that I see the end to all this. And I thank you and your –" Cedric looked at her not knowing what they called her and Daenerys was really not a name for her. He smiled. "—your Moon for coming all this way to do us the honor of being your ally. Together we can defeat Alchantar once and for all."

Leora was overwhelmed with the roller coaster of emotions the two men had created in her mind but was relieved to see Cedric come to his senses. Drogo took a moment to weight the sincerity of his words then got up and stretched his arm towards the two generals spilling a little wine on the table. He looked at the red liquid dripping between the wooden boards.

"The dead are asking for their share. So be it." And he tipped the mug spilling more wine onto the table. "To those who were and are no more! To those who are and will no longer be!"

Ortezza pushed his mug into Khal's with the same young enthusiasm that characterized him and they both waited for Cedric to join them. The general followed, but first he spilt some of his wine just like Khal. "To the glorious dead!"

"And the brave living!"

Leora closed her eyes for a moment. She felt dizzy, her head heavy as a rock; her stomach sang very ugly songs and she pressed on it to make it stop. The mugs landed on the table empty and loud and she startled. Khal looked at her for a moment.

"Give her something to eat."

Cedric hurried to signal the old servant and she disappeared into the kitchen. Leora tried to protest but Khal silenced her with a heavy hand set on her tiny shoulder.

"Eat, sleep. We ride at dawn."

"To war?..." and her voice was so feeble it took him a moment to understand.

"Only if you do what I say." But no matter how tired, she was always in the mood for a confrontation.

"You cannot command me for you have no choice."

Khal faced her and from so close he still intimidated her despite her seemingly unbroken courage.

"I could leave you here and send a patrol to take you back when the war is over."

"You wouldn't do that!" and the startle in her voice amused him.

"Perhaps." She hated his calmness and mockery. "If you eat and sleep." Her eyes narrowed but at no avail. "And obey me." She let the air out forcefully; in her mind she was already building a plan where she'd escape his grasp and be of real help on the battle field. But soon her enthusiasm slowly died out with her eyelids pushing down on her cheeks uncontrollably.

"My Lady, dinner…" the old servant placed the tray before her and smiled and for once Leora didn't seem to care about her role in this story and she grabbed the old woman's wrist in a warm hold.

"Thank you!" She wished she had gone to the kitchen to eat with her and Nersin in front of the stove, sitting on the little dirty wooden chairs they used when peeling potatoes. Her jaw trembled slightly. None of that was possible anymore.

"Servant! Prepare her a room and take the food there." Drogo looked back at Cedric asking for his cooperation.

"Yes. Lead the Princess to her room and take good care of her."

"But—"

Leora's last defense fell when Drogo took her by the arm and led her to the door, following the servant running before him.

"I followed you here; I did what you told me to do."

"But—"

"Daenerys!" Khal looked at her and strangely he wished he called her by her real name; he kept quiet for a moment. "Do what I tell you." But he realized that wasn't enough for her; he took a chest full of air, screeched his teeth, but tried again. "I need you tomorrow." Her mouth opened to his unbelievable words, but he wasn't about to give her that much satisfaction. "I need you awake, otherwise you're no good to me."

And the magic was tore again. She whimpered softly but turned around and left the room quietly with him following her with mild yearning eyes.

They were left alone. Cedric sipped on his wine again to fill out the time it took Khal to get back to his seat. Ortezza was too fascinated with this Water tribe chieftain to care about wine anymore. Drogo sat down and the silence continued as if nothing was to be said.

"So what's the plan?" Khal looked at Ortezza and he concluded he enjoyed this heavy Tekara; he could be trusted. Cedric kept his eyes on Khal and the three men came to another halt. Drogo licked his lips fast; they were dry and chapped with the prairie wind and the long journey.

"From the beginning." Cedric straight forward line did the trick and the Khalasar smiled unwillingly, caught in his own indecision. Maybe General Gaëlle could also be trusted against his obvious ego.

"Yes." He breathed in and regrouped. "I could have taken my army and chase after Alchantar."

"You could've."

"But it would've been too risky. I cannot leave my throne and people unprotected. I believe Alchantar to be mad enough to raise his entire elite to and come show me a lesson. He is that irresponsible when it comes to protecting his reputation."

"Why not send scouts out to see what you are up against, my Lord?" Ortezza pulled his chair closer to Cedric staring at Khal and this time the genuine face he displayed most of the time changed to a more serious composure.

"It would have taken too much time and I fear my people at the border do not have that time."

"Fair enough." Cedric nodded and encouraged him to continue.

"I decided to leave my main army behind to guard the palace. As we left home to come here I sent a small hunting patrol to track Alchantar down and sabotage his mission until we returned with reinforcements."

"Isn't that too little to face the Fire army?" Ortezza frowned already weighing the chances each party had.

"I know my men. I know what they're made of. They are strong enough to hold their ground until help arrives. But we must move fast."

Cedric fell back in his chair, thoughtful and quiet.

"My Khalsar, you must pardon my question but, despite the recommendation of the Princess, I still find it hard that a mighty tribe like yours would seek alliance with the likes of us, no matter our past quarrels with the Wolofs."

Khal fixed him for a moment, then looked at the empty mug before him and rolled it around slowly.

"I was wrong thinking I could control Alchantar. He's a snake, trying to coil around my neck and I need his head." And Cedric respected him for that taste of anger in his voice; that meant he cared and he needed men who also cared to make things matter. "I am sorry to disappoint you but I have come here only upon her word."

_Leora?_ "Daenerys?" he said it right in the last minute and Khal saw that cold shiver running down the general's back when he almost made the fatal mistake. "Apologies, the Princess."

"Yes. I did not wish for another alliance."

"You will not regret coming here!" Ortezza never lost his optimism and it sprang a smile on Khal's face. "You can count on us."

"And you on me." Silence.

"So what's the plan?" Cedric finally refused to resist it anymore and turned towards Ortezza with a grin on his face. "What? We still don't know the plan!"

"True." Khal got up as he felt he needed to gesture his way around the simple yet intricate battle plan he had conceived. "It takes almost two weeks for your army to march to my borders. But it would take less for a soldier to ride hard and meet my army back home. By the time we reach Alchantar from this side, they will also be close by. We will ambush Alchantar and what's left of his men in the Valley of Naajy."

"How can you be sure your men will be there on time? And most of all, how do you know that Alchantar will be in that valley?" Cedric seemed captivated with the talk of war.

"Because that's the only way to get to Nanak." The generals looked at each other confused and waited for more details. Khal took a moment to think of the best way to portray his strategy then saw the fireplace and went to pick up a charcoal. He pushed the jugs aside and started drawing on the wooden table what seemed to be a map to his land. Ortezza ran around the table to come behind him and see better what he was doing. Cedric stood up and bent awkwardly over the table to find a better angle to decipher Drogo's map. "See, this is my land. Now this is the sea and that's where I am. My home. And here are the borders."

"Quite far away…"

"The Dothraki have been blessed with vast territories. Unfortunately they have not been blessed with fertile soil, woodlands or flowing rivers. It looks nothing like your home." Cedric followed his every word trying to imagine these strange lands he was describing. He knew the stories of the four tribes but had never travelled to see their home lands. "So my ancestors forged these small villages with a military purpose in mind. Looking for places that would provide my people with the necessary resources would have been in vain. There is nothing there but desert, high grass and scorching sun." Ortezza looked hopeless but Khal encouraged him the best way he knew how. "I hope you're not a thirsty man, general." And that was the end of it for Ortezza; still Cedric didn't give him any time to complain.

"So your villages have been built like a fortress around the capital on the sea shore."

"The ones inside the valley, yes. But these ones, on the outer line, have been placed randomly so they cannot be attacked at once. The only path that connects these border villages to the main land of the Dothraki is the Valley of Naajy."

Cedric made a few quick calculations in his mind but he lacked many of the constants.

"How long does it take for you to reach your border? And how long from there to the sea?

"Needn't worry General. If my patrol hadn't slowed them down they would be close to the passage by now. But if we ride hard and with Gods given mercy we will catch up with them when they're crossing."

"And meanwhile your army will come from the other end and trap them inside." Ortezza nodded happily patting his round belly. "Now that's a plan-" He gave the two men a playful look, continuing to hold on to his human beer barrel. "—if it comes out right."

Khal looked at Cedric and they both smiled.

"It should come out right."

"Yes… " Ortezza rushed to pour more wine ready to toast.

But Cedric spoke first.

"To new allies!"

"To new allies!"

"To new friends!"

Khal turned to look at Ortezza and there was nothing about this man that could make you dislike his enthusiasm and sincerity.

"To new friends!" and Cedric held his mug acknowledging their new friendship and alliance.

**WWWWWWW**

Her old home. The candle light flickered mildly, barely warming her hands but she kept rubbing them on top of the melting wax. Her eyes stared blankly out the window and into the peach black night across the Uyack forests. Her old family. And yet she was weary and agitated. She yearned for his approach, for the safety laying in his words. An insecure security and she could not decide over Khal's influence on her. She sat down and the wood chair jarred with her weight reminding her some things in this house were older than she was. She placed her palms face down on the table and stared at the small sack before her.

_What is it for? _And the girl had looked at her in fear, holding her fist clenched in her lap. _My Khaleesi, I…_ She was too scared to speak in her presence but she had waited. His mistresses intrigued her; they had intrigued her since the day she stepped foot in his palace. With how they swarmed quietly and unseen from their chambers to his, always wrapped behind long veils as if his eyes alone were to be set on their body and no one else's. But a while after she had arrived, they had vanished all together and she rarely saw them anymore. As time passed by something ate inside her like warms digging through the ground relentlessly and she spent more time chasing them like a ghost to find whether they were still visiting him. She denied being jealous; it was just… _it's just –_

Her eyes came back to life from the memory still lingering in her mind. She wanted to be the only one; _I am the Khaleesi!_ But she bowed her head to the bitter true. Khal could have whomever he pleased, he was the ruler of it all and she could not forbid him to have a harem. It had annoyed her then and it annoyed her now, but at least she had discovered their secret way of not baring the children of the Khal. It was forbidden. He had no wish for children; not for the children of mistresses. The law only accepted the heirs produced in marriage.

She looked at the sack again and her sight darkened with anger. She was there to give him an heir, not pleasure, nor love. _Possess me! Posses me!_ She got up abruptly almost knocking the chair to the floor. She reached for it opening it brutally and with her fingers she searched impatiently inside until she found them - the small seeds, cradling them between her fingers. _Five…_

_What is it for?_ The girl had rubbed her forehead against the marble floor crying, but extended her hand in an awkward painful position for her to look in her palm. She had bent down to look at them slowly, carefully as if coming too close would have harmed her. They looked like sunflower seeds, only smaller and yellower and she had them mixed with the dried plant, all brown and crumbly. She rummaged through the mixture with her index finger unsure of what it was. Little by little she smelled the dead plant and it stung her senses. She had swallowed in fast, taking a step away into safety, away from what seemed to be a sign of secrecy and evil.

_The healer gives us the seeds. It's absinth._ She had dug her eyes out of the floor and barely caressed the back of her Khaleesi's hand with a frail and frightened sight. _So we do not bear fruit._

Her eyes had enlarged hearing the words and even though it made no immediate sense she knew what the woman was saying. _Absinth…_ Her eyes had fallen again upon the insignificant seeds that could hold life back from blooming into the world.

Leora shook her head turning back to present, holding tight on the five seeds. She had stolen them from the healer's jars. It took all her courage and determination to sneak along the dark corridors, at the break of dawn when the dim light of the new sun would help her find the way down the stairs and into the cellar. That's where the healer kept his potions and herbs, hidden from the dry sun, between the moldy walls of the basement. She had ran against time itself, searching desperately for the one jar. _Absinth._ If anyone had caught her there, if anyone had known that she was trying to prevent the birth of the Dothraki heir they would have decapitated her on spot.

She looked at the seeds again. Her heart ached with the pain of having to force her body into being barren when there was nothing neither barren nor dead in their love making. _Possession! He wouldn't give you the chance to love… him!..._ Him… the words came to life on her lips, whispered quickly into the night; lost, but found in her watery eyes. She brought her hand up, slowly pushing the seeds in her mouth and a sob escaped her. They tasted like nothing, and it was nothingness she felt when swallowing them down with a gulp of water. She felt its chill go down her throat, and into her chest then it disappeared somewhere into her belly and her palm followed it ending its caress on the flat tummy. With tears held behind the heavy eyelids and her lips sealed to keep moans from betraying her pain, she looked serene.

It hurt to act like a stranger in her own home. It hurt to be the wife of a man who wanted her for her legacy and his future. But not for whom she was. A liar. _Khal doesn't know who you really are…_

**WWWWWWW**

He looked tired; his eyes a bit red, his vision blurred. Cedric kept a curious eye on the tall man with his broad shoulders lowered in the saddle. The horse moved underneath him and he seemed to wake from his thoughts. Leora came down the stairs and Khal remained hypnotized with the sight of her in the sunny shower turning her skin to gold. Ortezza turned around and stood up a bit in the saddle to look between the two men and see what the amazement was all about.

She took one step at a time, her chin up, her eyes fierce and she had never looked more confident. She pushed her long braided tail at the side, across the naked shoulder and as she reached the bottom of the stairs the market was silent against the small army getting ready to leave. Tekaras and Dothraki alike observed her as she bowed before the Khalasar and her host, General Cedric Gaëlle.

"My horse?..." and she hesitated in her question seeing how taken aback he was.

Khal remained silent staring down at her nakedness and he wished her in his bed, just like he had the night before. And the night before. Her thigh stood out gracious from beneath the animal skin covering it and his eyes barely noticed the dagger hanging from the leather belt. A small top covered her firm breasts and when she turned around to take her hoarse his breathing ceased when seeing the few insignificant straps holding it together. He could see his palm walking down the softness of that back, her skin welcoming, deepening in its curves his rough fingers and he mouth watered for her in public. He pulled back straightening his shoulders. With an impulsive gesture he threw his long tail back waiting for her to get on the hoarse.

Cedric looked at him and then looked at her. There was more to their marriage than an arrangement.

"We are ready My Lord." The soldier bowed and Cedric gave the signal. A few shouts across the market and he could hear the gates opening heavily. Khal barely gave him a look; he reined his horse towards the front of the army followed shortly behind by his generals. Ortezza took a moment to look at Cedric and ask for directions but he got none so he decided to follow the Khal and let Cedric catch up.

Cedric was busy searching for her eyes; he needed answers. He needed to know she hadn't switched camps and was now trying to full him and her people into fighting for a purpose that would not benefit them. But her eyes were clear as day light, brighter and trusting, like he'd rarely seen them before. Leora bowed her head to him and turn her horse around galloping to join her husband. Cedric looked down at his dirty nails and rough hands. The lines in his palm seemed to have grown deeper; he was growing old and very few things seemed to bring his youth back. A smile, a memory, a moment of joy. He pulled gently on the reins ready to leave behind his home to go to war and defend it in dangerous and unknown territories. The horse took one small step after another and he listened to the pebbles underneath being scattered from under the lazy hooves. Uyack was all he had ever known; it was life, it was death and it was rebirth. _You mellow rascal!..._ But even rage wasn't what it used to be. His eyelids felt heavy, his shoulders tired.

"Cedric!" he blinked fast, finding it hard to tear from his inner world. "Cedric!" He turned his head around and saw Nersin grabbing on the side of the saddle catching her breath. "Wait!..." The horse halted as if on command and she rested her forehead against his leg, with her fingers still gripping on the leather. A moment later and their eyes finally met and she read worry in the light blue; and loneliness. She had thought of words to tell him, of things to explain. She had been up all night, watching Dene sleep, knowing he'd wake up in the morning to see a friend go; the only friend who had not given up on him and who spent ours teaching him to become the man he dreamt of being. The brother he wanted to be. And now he was going away to a place that could kill him and all of her words were gone taking her breath with them. Her lips remained locked and she hated her stupidity and impotence to show the courage she knew she had. _To hell with it!_

She pushed herself up on the saddle and grabbed on his armor with all her might pulling Cedric down and he almost lost balance, but against her efforts she was not strong enough to bring him so close to her and as she struggled their eyes met once again and the light blue was no longer lingering, alienated but shone brightly with her display of initiative. Her breath blew the blond strands away from his forehead just in time for her copper ones to cover his forehead when he pulled her into his arms to kiss her.

His knee pushed in her belly and her breasts weighed heavily on his arms but she did not care and argued with her body to find the strength and tangle more around his, like climbing flowers. She knotted her fingers around his neck and tilted her head back enough for Cedric to invade her mouth as if it was fresh water quenching his thirst and he groaned unhappy with the way he held her. He wanted more, he needed more but he was pleased to see her throw herself into his arms and even though time was short, he wanted everything she had to give. She lost her grip on him and moaned when she had to let go falling back on the ground, dizzy, with an urge that was far from being appeased by his torturous kiss.

She took a step back to catch her breath but they never lost eye contact. Cedric stretched his hand to her but she took a moment before accepting. She did not want more of his poisonous kiss knowing she could not have more. But perhaps she would never have more if she left and never returned. The thought filled her with unexpected pain and she hugged his leg, pushing her forehead against his knee. She did not want to cry. He did not want her to cry; she had to be the strong woman Cedric expected of her.

His hand came into her hair caressing it gently. He glimpsed down the street with a wary eye; the last row of soldiers was now disappearing around the corner and he had to follow. The messenger had been sent since the night before and time was not on their side. They had to move fast for their plan to work.

"Nersin…" She looked at him and even though terrified, she was not crying. He was proud. He lowered himself in the saddle all the way to place another kiss on those pinkish soft lips that had him burn at night and fast during the day, but that now were his for the taking. And she surrendered tip toeing to cup his face in her palms, taking the lead, feeding on his mouth as if there was no tomorrow. She placed a string of small sweet kisses, biting here and there as she went from one corner to another of his mouth and Cedric groaned deep in his throat not wanting to prolong the torture. He curled his fingers at the back of her head pushing his mouth on hers to make her stop and when she finally ended her struggle he released her. He would have loved to tease her about the swollen lips and reddish chin he caused with his stubble but he would rather enjoy her and her smile now that he had to get back in the saddle.

Something drew his attention back and he looked over his shoulder to see Dene standing on top of the stairs with the Tekara flags flowing around him like guardians. Cedric saluted and waited for the little man to do the same. He knew very well what laid in the soul of an already broken child; he had been there and now he wanted to inspire this boy into becoming a new man and sure enough Dene proved his worth when he brought his little shaky hand up front. And a moment later he lifted the other in an embrace only his innocent heart could shout and Cedric paled before his proof of love to him. He lifted his other arm as well and the chain clinked around his body. They locked regards and they both bowed gently saying good bye. The arms came down but the chin staid up, defying what was to come.

One last look at her blush and the sun burning in her hair and he kicked in the horse disappearing into the market. Chit chatter in the small streets and the flags fluttering on the walls. Uyack was coming back to life just when Nersin felt hers was ending.

**Author's note**

**My dear ladies and gents,**

**Even though I have not totally kept my word and I am only coming with this new chapter so late, I did my best to fill in about 40 pages of it to last you until I come up with the next one.**

**Thanks so much to all of you subscribing the story to your favorites and to those of you who are reviewing constantly. Thanks to Hermioneandmarcus and Mimi8 for reviewing the last chapter! MUAH! So sorry if I'm missing anyone. **

**BUT – and this is my main reason for being late. I am applying for a 2 years and a half Master's in Screenwriting in Boston and I need your help. I would like to send 30 pages sample of writing out of this story and I need your help to pick a part. So, help out please! I know the story by heart and I love it – duh! – that's why I'm writing it so I can be very subjective about my choice.**

**So what do you say? Which part of the story so far should be sent to the admission office? I would advise to exclude the sex scenes hahaha ! Even though I might make good grading for originality and creativity hahaha**

**Hugs and kisses and thanks again guys for being so patient with me!**

**Mela**


	19. Note to readers

My dear dear faithful readers,

I am sooooo very sorry for being extremely and unforgivably late with this next chapter. Fortunately for me, I have a very good excuse. Namely, if you remember from a while ago I was asking for your opinion on what chapter from the story I should use to send to an American University for a screenwriting application?

Well guess what? This little lady has been admitted for a two year and a half Master of Fine Arts in Film with focus in Screenwriting at the Boston University, Massachusetts, ranking #8 in the top best Screenwriting programs in US. The process took about three months all in all but it was worth while.

Only 12 students have been admitted so I should say I am either very lucky or rather good at this stuff. Classes start September 3rd, 2013.

Also, I am preparing a small surprise for everyone enjoying my stories, whether it's Walls or Death is Just another Beginning – they will soon be available for purchase in Kindle format. I will post a link to the website where they can be purchased as soon as they are ready.

THANK YOU for encouraging me through your comments and reviews! If any of you are also writers, you know and appreciate the value of criticism in your work. For me it made all the difference in the world, so again many thanks for being patient and for reading my humble stories!

For your information, this upcoming chapter is pretty big but I'm half way through it and I will do my best to have it done by next week!

Love you! Stay well and have fun!

Mela


	20. Chap 18 - Messangers

**Messengers**

She held tight on the reins, face down with her nose almost buried in the animal's crest and her breathing matched the hooves of the horse hitting the ground repeatedly as they ran across the field. Behind them Uyack was becoming smaller with each turn and each tree left behind. The fields were narrower with the forest now claiming its territory and they were soon to slow down when reaching the thick brush. Close to the tree line Khal took the lead and forced the men to follow in his steps. Leora glanced behind and saw Cedric and Ortezza galloping in front of the small Tekara army. Drogo's few men sped on the side, like guards of the small tribe now joining them as allies. Cedric had to tell his men about her new role but they did not seem to care as long as their commander still fought for their cause. She had not believed their allegiance to run so deeply. She turned around with a hint of smile on her face and a softer heart beating in her chest. Daenerys or Leora, her men followed her anywhere. Her mind elapsed reality for a moment going back to the very day when she had to become their leader against all odds. Perhaps they were able to see in her what she had failed to acknowledge for so long; a strength of spirit and an unbreakable will. Something she had mistaken for fear and stubbornness.

"Halt!" his voice echoed all the way to the back of the line and Cedric signaled the soldiers to stop. The horses neighed unhappily with the taste of iron in their mouth, biting on the snaffle bit. Their feet dug in the wet soil leaving deep traces behind them, almost colliding into each other and Leora pulled back in the saddle to balance her weight on top of the restless animal.

A shadow sprang out of the woods rushing towards them. She could hear the gallop of the horse and the faint flight of the stranger's cape as he bullied the horse into running faster. Drogo looked back at his men and they stood ready; Cedric had found his sword and waited patiently giving the shadow a chance to reveal itself. Ortezza had taken his small knife out; he did not want to waste any good arrows yet. The rider saw them and slowed down reluctantly at a relatively safe distance from their small unit. He hid his face behind a long grey veil, his body wrapped in dark clothes making him unseen and silent. But from under the sweaty material his eyes shone bright and alert. A moment of hesitation later he decided it was safe to approach them and one step at a time he commanded his horse to come forward.

Khal remained still waiting, stalking the stranger in his usual predator manner. His clothes didn't resemble anything he recognized. It was as if the man did not wish to be known and he could not trust his intentions. He looked closely, tilting his head a little to the side to observe his hands coming from underneath the long black cape. Other than the heavy breathing from his mad riding, he didn't seem too anxious nor was he looking for weapons underneath the layers of his cloak. And still… The two riders were now face to face and Drogo's interest turned to impatience. Cedric and Ortezza decided to come closer and Leora caught up with them until reaching Khal at the same time.

The man pushed the material away freeing his face and Leora saw a young boy, in his late teens, his face radiant yet weary. His lower lip twitched almost imperceptibly as he observed each of them. She followed his eyes measuring Khal and then Cedric until he finally rested his regard on her and he seemed to find comfort in the sight of her. And it sent an unexpected electric bolt through her heart as if those tender boyish lips were about to speak and whatever they had to say would harm her. Still, they remained sealed, his view darkening with unspoken distress. He dismounted slowly dropping on one knee and Khal took a deep breath affected by the long wait.

"Speak."

But the boy had to swallow first and then speak for he had heard of the Khal and even though properly instructed by his master, he still had to find his courage to address the chieftain.

"My…" he tried again. "My Khalasar –"

"Just speak boy." Khal was not in the mood to prolong this small encounter. They were running out of time with the sun rising now in the horizon.

"I am Iman, apprentice of Illyrio Mopatis, Magister in the Westeros Court."

She pushed back in the saddle with sudden excitement, so well hidden yet so ravishing inside her chest. Her heart pounded with a thrill she did not want to acknowledge for the joy she felt was poised with hues of bad omens.

"My Lady –" his mouth opened and then closed as he reviewed in his mind the clear instructions from the Magister. " – Daenerys …" he stopped again, only to draw his breath which sounded more like a sigh of relief for not having committed the fatal error of calling her differently and now his anxiety vanished just as it did hers. But his shoulders shook a bit, involuntarily, when he looked at her again. "…my Lord has sent me to bring you sad tidings." His eyes in hers and that earlier bolt of pain in her heart burnt again like an old wound. "Sir Jorah Mormont has been assassinated a few weeks ago."

Leora watched him emptily; her chest empty, her mouth empty and dry, like a fish lacking air stranded on a deserted beach. Obscurity fell on her reason like night taking over the day and she spent minutes just staring at nothing in particular. The horse moved slightly underneath her but she disregarded all around her. Khal came near but not even his tall shadow shook her out of her inner tragedy. Questions bulked in her mind, invading her mouth, her tongue heavy with the countless attempts to utter a word. _A few weeks… so long. He's been gone so long!_ In the pit of her chest anger pushed harder trying to build a way out and explode in the young man's face, but she was so numb that it only sounded like drums in the deep.

"Why so long?..." The boy most likely guessed what she asked for her lips barely parted and words fell out like petals quickly driven away by the wind.

"I was first sent to the palace" and he looked purposefully at Drogo. "There I found you had come this way so I followed you to Uyack. It took me weeks."

Leora bounced gently, back and then forth, her heart guiding the movement of her body with a deaf but thundering sound. Tears welled in her eyes as she rocked in the saddle and even if that anger never surfaced she did escape a moan that she wished to be a scream. A scream from the top of her lungs, a scream through which she'd give it all up, all of this! The deceit, the struggle, the endless fighting. Her only support was gone and now she stood bare facing the enemy waiting in the distance, the enemy close by and the enemy within. Whichever of those planned to bring her down faster she would not give them that pleasure and she would sabotage herself into falling. Succumb now to your own doing than to the sword of a Wolof! She breathed in, so slowly she could easily follow the stretching of the chest muscles when the air pushed in to fill her lungs. Khal forced his face in her visual field but her eyes remained blurry.

"Daenerys…" She struggled to clear her eyes from the despair within and from the tears threatening to overflow her face. Her horse moved, changing directions and she felt guided away from the army. "Daenerys, look at me." She had never heard his voice so calm, yet so warm; it was calling to her and she leaned forward as to feel it on her face, that warmth.

"I know who did it." She whispered.

Khal stopped his hand half way in between their bodies. He had wanted to caress her, but she was coming around on her own, no longer needing his comfort. He curled his fingers back on the leather of the reins. She looked up at him and with the help of the wind, her senses cooled enough to entrust him that she was aware of the charges she was bringing.

"I know who did it." And her voice had not lost any of its certainty; if not it had added strength to her conviction. It was still dark, with the dew lingering heavy on the green grass, making it bend to the ground. The chill in the air crept down her spine with a cold sweat even though her lungs were burning. It hurt so much inside that her muscles bore the tension built by the pain and she couldn't utter anymore words. Instead her eyes mirrored the memories unfolding now in her mind.

She had rejected their visit. Lorday's and the others. Esther. _What was the other man's name?_ She could not remember; but she remembered their faces, vividly still. They had left Khal's palace with their tails between their legs, yet she had had a strange feeling, a claw grasping at her heart. She recalled the bitter taste in her mouth as she had watched them leave for Pentos. _Jorah, my dear Jorah!_ She sighed and her chest came up with a heaviness she felt she couldn't manage anymore. _It was them, it had to be them! I know it!_ She shook her head angry and frustrated. Without a shred of proof she could not prove their guilt before the council. They would remain unpunished, Jorah would remain cold and buried. She would remain alone. Alone she was now. Her eyes closed and she thought she heard herself cry out loud.

His hand slid underneath her heavy locks of chestnut hair, cupping the back of her neck, forcing her to bend back. Tears rolled fast from her eyes and into her hair as she now stared at the empty sky. Drogo sank his lips in her ear whispering with a tenderness she wanted to feel.

"Go." She didn't move. "I'll give you my men. Just go." She heard him now. She heard him encouraging her and she slowly turned to face him, her salty tears reaching his lips and he ever so gently pressed them against that wet warm skin. His own heart beat choked him; tenderness was not something he experienced very often. He wanted to let go but his hand refused to obey his mental commands, his nostrils did not stop inspiring the freshness of her body, enveloping his senses. The wind blew and like in a dream her hair touched his face as he kept his forehead flat against her temple and it soothed both their turmoil. The spell was broken as they grew back to reality.

Leora swallowed in drily, bringing her eyes upon him and he seemed confused. These feelings he had for her confused him.

"I have no shred of proof." It seemed as if the wind had whispered the words, they sounded so faint and lost.

"Then find it." Drogo wanted to add that tougher tone to his voice that always brought her on the edge, alert and focused. But her presence so close, diluted his will and he backed off leaving her to hang on to that smoothness in his tone that she was not accustomed to.

"My Lady if I may…" The young messenger interrupted their moment with a subtle bow of the head. "I believe you'll have all the help you need from my master to find the culprits of such abomination."

"Does the Magister know anything about this? Does he suspect… anyone?" She was not sure whether it was safe to disclose her suspicions just yet.

"He does. He fears some of his peers may sit behind this awful deed and he wishes for your help to capture them and bring them to justice."

Leora's heart skipped a beat. Illyrio was surely suspecting Lorday and Esther. He had always had his eyes on the young nobleman and his constant infatuation with power. His viciousness knew no bounds but perhaps this time he had gone too far. Her shoulders fell low when she lost air in one long silent sigh. Suddenly she heard Khal's voice behind her and the ranks behind them shifted. His men stood aligned at her left before the boy, awaiting her orders.

"I shouldn't take all your men." She said it more to herself; as off that moment she really didn't care for much else other than riding to Pentos to seek justice for her spiritual father.

"You need your crown, so take it."

"Not with war and threats and soldiers! Hopefully… Leave me with half of them. Even if it comes to that, half is enough to scare the entire city." And she smiled cautiously.

"They don't need to draw swords to help your cause." Leora turned her head slightly, enough to glance at Khal standing tall in the saddle with just the wind battling against his long hair when nothing else seemed to disturb his savage beauty. "You're not alone. They need to see that." He signaled half of them to retreat and the rest remained with her.

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that _he_ was there for her and not just his army. Not just the Khalasar. She nodded faintly then kicked the horse mildly commanding him to change route. The boy turned as well joining the small improvised army. Cedric watched her take the lead and he said a quick prayer in his thoughts, so fast it sounded almost aloud. _She'll do fine_…

"When?"

"Four of five days ago my Lord!" And he spoke the truth. He had only learnt of Mopatis's apprentice having changed course to Uyack just a few days before. Now she was probably soon to enter Pentos.

"That cannot be!" his voice trembled as he paced through the room, with his mind scattered and his fear clustering in his chest. Ever since returning from the Dothraki land he had had a hard time finding his rest, and seeing to his chores had become a burden; his wife had become more suspicious of him than she had been already. Lorday paced again, this time in the opposite direction. "How can this be? Why did you not tell me earlier?"

"I did not know my Lord!..." the messenger bowed fearful of Sir Narcil Lorday's anger. He was confused. The return of their princess should not cause her nobles such anguish and dissatisfaction.

"Leave me! Leave me now!" Lorday waved the boy away as if he was on the brink of hurting him and he made efforts to contain himself. When in fact he was simply taken aback by the news, his plans ruined, his faith shuttered. He did not expect her to return to Pentos. _Had she learnt of Jorah?_ He paced again, so fast so steady that he walked into a chair sending it into the wall. _No, how could she? Unless…_ His eyes went up and into the light of the glowing morning sun. _Mopatis!_ His eyelashes shadowed his vision like clouds bringing rain over the desert and he took a small step back, wrapped in dark premonitions. He looked for a place to sit, blindly, with his hand reaching aimlessly and he finally rested in the armchair behind him, letting his body drop with the weight of a dead man and it resounded heavily through the empty room. Even the chatter in the market had become diffuse and random. His mind ran wild with worry, with the sickness of being cornered and despite the obvious enemy who had sent word to Leora, his fears and his weakness did not lie with Illyrio Mopatis, but with his partner in crime, Esther. Lyrnus Esther had always been the weaker link in their little affair and he dreaded the moment when he had to handle this small matter of trust. He knew the day would come when Esther would betray him and he felt that day was near. For Esther could not find it within him to see someone else fall victim to their plan. Jorah Mormont, he understood; he did not approve of it, but he understood that the old man was a hole in the road and they needed to bury him under. He was a necessary kill for their plan to succeed. Sacrifices had to be made. No such scoop as theirs would have ever been pulled off without shedding a drop of blood. But things were now taking a new turn and he would probably have to take radical actions if he wanted to still hold the reins of the situation. Leora had to be deported back to the Dothraki land without much fuss so that she fulfils her unwilling role and subdue the Khal. With the Khalasar's power undermined by a foreign ruler, and a woman more so, Leora would in turn be considered a traitor by the tribe and sent to certain death herself. His plan was a domino; it could either cause all the pieces to fall in the right order leading him to his final success, or to his inevitable demise. It took but one faulty piece for the game to be lost. And as mind boggling as the reward could be, just as tremendous and apocalyptic his losses could be if Leora did not fall for his plan. Esther had to disappear before Leora ever set foot in Pentos and somehow this rang louder in his mind than the danger of Mopatis sniffing his trail.

Lorday got up, a little dizzy, angered, yet determined. He was too close to his goal to let an old man undo his dream. He had Leora and Mopatis to worry about now and he could not afford any more delays from a wreck with morals such as Esther. His hand shook powerlessly when he pushed away from the armchair.

Yet, against all these unexpected problems coming his way, luck was on his side for salvation was in the other room. His eyes fell on the door shadowed by the heavy velvet curtains. Too much had happened; Jorah's breathe still seared his hands. His fingers clenched trying to stop the painful startle in his muscles remembering the strength he had to put in that pillow to take Mormont's life. _Never again!_... He would have had Kanza do it for him. He knew the Dakelh would do anything in his power to make more money. Delivering messages was no longer a profitable business now when many of his kind were competing on such a poor market in demand. He knew that had he made the right offer, Kanza would have committed to the kill. But he was not there when needed and Lorday twitched nervously again taking another hesitant step towards the door; his hands caressed the wood with fingers spread wide as if he wanted to grab the entire surface in his palms. He pushed it open staring at the obscurity unfolding before his eyes.

He saw the door open and the small figure crayoning in the door way. A deaf growl surfaced his lips. The wound Alchantar had inflicted on his already withering body was slowly cleaning from the infection he had endured. The dirt, the humidity of the Wolof's dungeon, the putrefying straw bed he had to spend his nights on while imprisoned in the belly of his castle, they had all contributed to his misery. _The Wolof…_ His breathing accelerated as if the man himself stood there before his eyes and he finally had his chance to take revenge for having suffered the consequences of another man's words. But until that chance would be bestowed upon him, this young wretched soul, this mindless boy he had served, would have to quench his thirst for revenge.

Narcil Lorday stepped inside the room looking at Kanza settled against the wall, with the feeble light of the morning barely making it through the thick curtains. His skin was as dark as he remembered it, his body just as lean and wrapped in black clothing. But something about that eye, that one eye that stood in the light, made him swallow in drily. Kanza had always been a dangerous man; not because his mind was a chest full of secrets, but because his hand was as swift as his tongue. His dagger had sent many bodies to eternal sleep, across the land. Yet the ruthlessness in his noble blood, his conquering spirit did not allow him, Narcil Lorday, to succumb in his own house.

"You have guts to show your face in my presence, in my own house!" Kanza remained quiet with just his one eye moving slowly, peering into the darkness to find that figure that had now melted with the rest of the shadows as it came forward, deeper into the room. "Where were you when I needed you the most?" Lorday took another step closer, encouraged by the Dakelh's silence. "You do not deserve your gold. I had to do your dirty work, when I should have not even been near Mormont!"

His hands gestured desperately in the air with the irony of a stupid young man and he turned his back on Kanza, theatrically. He spent a little time to add to the drama of the moment then faced the tall somber man again. But he was gone and Lorday stared at the transparent light, falling slowly, in one long beam, on the white wall, with no dark eye to reveal, with no shadow to contour. He pulled back immediately as if the image burnt his eyes.

"Going somewhere… my Lord?..." His back stung with the pointy blade of the dagger sinking between his ribs and he arched unwillingly trying to get away for the pain. Kanza grabbed his throat from behind, digging with the dagger deeper through the layers of clothing, until he heard the material tear. "Where was I, you ask?"

"Stop it! Stop this nonsense at once! I command you!" but his voice fluctuated, with fear gripping on his vocal cords infecting the subtle courage barely holding on to his tongue.

"You command me? You _command_ me?" It was as if a snake was whispering in his ear, his venom spilling into his head and he felt that current running down his spine, meeting the edge of the dagger piercing his skin. He wondered how deep it had got in. How much of his life would be spared by this lonely man who valued only his soul and no other. A fist between his shoulder blades sent him flying into the wall before him and the curtain fluttered with the motion of the air in the room then remained still with his fingers grasping on the material for support.

Lorday massaged his cheek brushing off the sandy markings left on the skin, clenching his teeth after they had all shuttered from the collision. His hand pressed on that painful spot on his back and for an instant he feared blood would be gushing from the wound but he merely sensed the material moist with the scratch. Still, the assault aggravated him to the extent of choking the reason out of him. A Dakelh, in his home! A Dakelh in the house of a noble in Pentos, the mighty capital of one of the richest kingdoms in the land! Not some dark cave he grew up into, yet Kanza dared attack him here!

"I sent you with a simple message to the Wolofs and gone you were, like the wind! You were to return with an answer, you were to bring me word on his allegiance to our cause, yet you vanished like smoke in the air! And still you dare come into my home and attack me! What have you to say to that?"

"You're still breathing, are you not?" and his slow deep voice together with the gentle swiping motion of his hand cleaning the blade of his dagger silenced Lorday for a moment. Kanza found his way back into the light and the charcoal pebbles glowing in his eye sockets stole any leftovers of peace in the young nobleman's heart. "I delivered your message, as we agreed." He put the dagger back, watching the blade hide away from the sun and into the darkness of the seethe. "I got your answer as well, as we agreed." The dagger reached its final destination and his eyes hawked back at Lorday who felt pinned against the wall. "And I got one more answer. One that we did not agree upon." His hand slipped underneath the layers of clothes and when he freed his skin from their burden, Lorday's eyes widened with disgust. The cut seemed deep, the wrinkly reddish edges of the wound were moist with milky puss still pushing out of the small openings and he looked away, not being able to bare the horrid sight. "You cannot even look at it, less suffer it… Yet you mock at me with your young impertinence! Stupid fool!"

Narcil wanted to turn his eyes around if only to prove his manhood, but he couldn't keep his ground and when he finally squeezed an ounce of courage out of him, it was too late, for Kanza had hidden away the ugly scar still struggling to heal.

"How am I to be blamed for such a deed? It is but the consequence of your job, nothing more. You know the risks you carry when you know too much."

"Or too little."

"It is not in your interest to know more than you already know. You are here to deliver!"

"Do not raise your voice at me again Sir Lorday or you shall share my fate!"

The young man fell a step back only to release the curtain and let the light in. It provided him with the safety of the sun, revealing the enemy standing before him in that room. Kanza pressed on the wound long and purposefully enough for Lorday to understand what his fate would be and that false impression of safety felt more like a trap now. It made things so much frighteningly clearer.

"Perhaps it was you that gave the message at the wrong time." His foolishness had no limits but his courage did, so he kept his voice at a reasonable tone this time.

The tar in Kanza's eyes spilt from his black eyes and crawled up Lorday's spine when he moved closer cornering him against the window.

"There is no such thing when it comes to the Fire King. It is not in the good or bad time that your chance to live stands when it comes to Alchantar Wolof. It is in the message one delivers. And it seems your message to him upset him dearly." Lorday heard the air being pushed forcefully out of the thin nostrils of the Dakelh and waited patiently for him to finish. "Or is it that you are trying to escape your debt to me, and trust me when I say this – I will not allow it." Kanza pushed a step closer. "I have done my part and –"

"You have done nothing!" Lorday sprang forth unexpectedly, daring with the anger building inside him, giving him a false sense of courage. Kanza's brow raised in wonder, mildly surprised by the sudden change in attitude. It was further proof the young noble was not to be trusted. "It was _I_ who had to do your part! All you had to do was deliver a message and be back in a few days. Yet you were gone for weeks! Weeks in which the world span in a different direction than the one I had planned for and I had to do what had to be done!" He passed Kanza by so swiftly, he only sensed the wretched smell coming off his clothes. He turned around to look at the Dakelh again. "Where were you?"

But Kanza took his time in replying. His wound was hurting more with the anger than with the pain and he chose to ignore the selfish little man bragging before him. He sat down in the chair next to the window and the light carved a perfect image of him, half truthful and visible standing out into the open, half submerged into the darkness, waving his evil schemes. He seemed tired though and the fire in his eyes was slowly dying. He had learnt of Jorah Mormont's death and he was now beginning to understand why his disappearance had aggravated Lorday to such extent. There was no one around to do his dirty work. But he did not spoke of it and let the discussion follow its course and see where the river would flow. If the noble had an offer for him it would soon reveal itself.

"Alchantar received your message and he was much annoyed with the delay in receiving such news."

"Was he?..." Narcil stopped his pacing still considering why the Wolof had been so angry to receive news of the bastard child. _Had he not known?_ Better yet, what were his plans that the delay in finding out news of Leora had set him on fire this way? He turned his attention back to Kanza and his spirit mellowing in the rising sun. "Have you taken care of that?" and he signaled towards his hand pressing on the wound. The messenger looked at him and Lorday discovered his own surprise in his eyes. Such kindness was not in his nature and both of them recognized it so it took them aback to hear him speak in such manner. But Kanza replied nonetheless, his voice marked by Lorday's strange display of mercy.

"There was no time. I was sent to prison for days. Have you ever been to prison?" His voice snuggled a subtle touch of irony. "You haven't. But even if you had been, nothing of what you'd have here could compare with the dungeons in Karok. They are as filthy inside as the city is outside."

"So how did you escape?" Narcil felt peaceful enough to pull a chair and sit down, still at a safe distance from Kanza. The fight seemed to have exhausted them both. Or perhaps the fear of their confrontation had worn them out long before their actual encounter. The mind can play cruel tricks on the weak hearted.

"A young guard was foolish enough to come inside and bring me water."

Lorday sneered pleased with the remark as he envisioned the quick death of the Wolof soldier.

"I see…"

"Before I escaped I saw Alchantar leave with his armies. I overheard conversation of their plans. I believe they were traveling to the prairies."

"Khal Drogo."

"Yes, I believe so…"

They silenced for a moment and when Narcil spoke again he seemed to have forgotten all about his earlier rage against the Dakelh. His interests were at stake and he needed that more than his vengeance and fit of rage.

"I want you to do something for me and if you succeed I will make sure you have everything you need." He paused looking again at the dirty hand pressing down on the wound in his belly. "… to heal and go home or wherever you may please."

Kanza refrained from smiling. He knew his offer would come and it did. Time was pressing for Lorday and he needed help if he were to march upon Pentos and see his dreams be born in the throne hall of the Westeros. And Esther did not count for much when it came to assisting the young man in his deeds. He had sensed who was the weak link between these two noblemen. But first things first.

"What about my payment?" Kanza looked at him with undeterred eyes, even though they looked hollow. "You still owe me half for delivering the message. And now…"

"Of course. I always keep my promise."

Kanza wished to smile and for a moment he thought he did.

"Of course…" He looked away shortly, almost as if he did not want to know what this new assignment would be about. Then eventually he asked the question but against his exhaustion and indifference, he did not expect such an answer.

"I want Esther dead. Before the end of the day."

The wind fought the curtain with a shameless force, causing it to swirl uncontrollably on the floor and against the wall. They stood silent listening to the treacherous sound. Kanza's lips remained sealed as if he had never spoken since he had entered the room. Lorday waited, somehow overwhelmed by his own words. Had the situation been different, he would have urged the man for a response, but now that the words had left his mouth he could not get them back. His father in his wicked wisdom had told him that only two things couldn't be retrieved once released: words and arrows. And they were both dangerous if released recklessly and now he anguished over what he had caused. Kanza could very well find a higher pay just to deliver the information of his treachery to Mopatis or any other member of the court. And he'd be dead. His father would have slapped the senses out of him for speaking before reasoning. But his father had not done better than he was doing now, for he too had been killed as a consequence to his poor judgment. Or perhaps he was just using this as an excuse to feel better about his murderous plan.

"Should I take your silence for an answer?" He sounded so faint he didn't think Kanza heard him speak. "And if yes, what would the answer be?"

"What do you think it would be?"

The wind again. But despite its noisy intrusion Lorday still felt hot inside. The morning breeze seemed to avoid him purposefully letting him boil in his own infested juices.

"If it is measured in coins, I believe the answer is yes."

Kanza smiled. A smile that did not appear his; deep and philosophic, with a candid touch that baffled Lorday. It wasn't in his nature to spend time on questions no one could answer, but every now and then the nothingness he found in certain people obliged him to take that solitary moment and address the skies his unspoken worry. He had been delivering messages for as long as he could utter words and walk up straight on his own two feet. He had killed for less than a few coins; at times he had killed for food. And though poverty and hunger were his excuses, he felt sheltered from the wrath of the Gods when his judgment day came seeing the excuses others used to kill women and children, people who only happened to be in the way. Sometimes people who did nothing else wrong but to be born and live. Lorday's demand came as nothing new or strange, but the serenity he displayed when asking for a life to be taken for coins, still shook his foundation. A foundation he thought he had reinforced with enough layers of ignorance in the many years of his paid servitude. His eyes fired short shots into the nobleman's shifty eyes. He wasn't the only killer in the room. Narcil Lorday was just a different kind of killer.

"And how much does a life cost today, Sir Lorday?"

Lorday never caught the deeper meaning in Kanza's words; he was too preoccupied with saving money on this new request.

"Esther has never really been a valuable asset to my plan. He had merely tagged along. I was wrong in thinking he could help."

"He gave you entrance to the court."

"What would you know of that?" Lorday speared Kanza with his daring sight but soon realized that battle was lost before it begun. Kanza owned people's minds in this city and he knew more than he ever would. "How much do you want?" His earlier kindness was now gone and Kanza found it easier to deal with the usual Lorday than with a caring young man.

"Five bags of coins and the promise of ending our association as soon as I am done."

"Esther is not worth that much money!"

"But I am. Unless you want to do it yourself."

"Do not mock at me Dakelh!"

"The truth is not mockery unless it's pure irony and life is unpredictable when it comes to that." Kanza stood up slowly, pushing on his wound who by now had sucked all of his energy. "You did it once before. You opened the door and now there is nothing to stop you from walking inside."

"I have a reputation that I have stained already." He did not want to say Mormont's name again, out loud. It seemed as if he were followed, haunted by the very sound of it.

"Your reputation would be the least to suffer if any of this were to be discovered."

"Are you threatening me Kanza?"

"I did not survive this long on the job if I had threatened all my contractors. Take it as a warning and be cautious with the steps you take. My reputation is also at stake."

"What reputation would that be? What reputation does a thief and a liar have?"

"The same a killer holds when hiding in plain sight dressed as a sheep, when he is a wolf."

Somehow Kanza's words came as a compliment to Lorday. He had done rather well keeping his affairs a secret and Pentos was a hungry animal waiting to be fed with information coming from the court. Yet he had swept silently underneath the walls, digging his way in the dark, surfacing enough to stir the waters in the vast lakes above. Again, he missed on the message older, much wiser Kanza was sending his way. The Dakelh gave up. It as useless wasting his time on a narcissist boy who cared for nothing other than his own persona.

"Five bags or we have no deal."

"How will it be done?"

"However you prefer."

He had not considered such answer. He had asked more of complacency, a stupid childish curiosity when in fact he did not want to be held responsible of how Esther died. Kanza read that corrupt innocence on his face and found it if not hilarious and least ridiculous that he did not know how Esther would die, but he cared to see him dead. The human mind was a trap that sometimes cornered its own owner and unfortunately, with it, it cornered others as well, people who the owner obsessed over, lashing his poisonous thoughts their way. That was why he never cared to understand the reasons behind people's choices. He got his pay, did his job and left. And on the long run, he tried not to live with a guilty consciousness.

"I do not want him to suspect it was me. I have secured us a way inside."

Kanza bowed wondering whether Lorday actually believed his own words. Regardless of who the killing hand would be or how he would end, Esther was no fool. The burden of the old man's eyes on him a while back weighed heavily on his shoulders for a moment, making him bow further to the ground. The sun hung above them and the market bell rang reminding them it was almost noon. Lorday disappeared into the shadows with his steps hiding in the relentless metal echo of the bell. Kanza counted the strikes. The hour had come for yet another kill.

She felt as if the whole of Pentos was stepping in her footsteps, watching her breathe, following the faint sound of her leather coverings as she moved gently through the palace garden. Her visit had taken aback the nobility and the rumor of her arrival had circled the market twice before she ever set foot on the rocky pavement of the terrace. She did not care to change in her princess clothes. She was her own queen summarily dressed as she was, even though it had caused the ladies of the house to look away with distorted faces witnessing her nakedness. This was no longer the Targaryen Princess walking into her home, but the Queen of Westeros and Khaleesi of the Dothraki Tribe and they had to live by that.

She walked aimlessly. She did not know where he was, but she wished to believe she would find him nonetheless from her simple knowledge of him; of what he liked, of the places that brought him peace. She paced slowly, one foot before the other and she acknowledged every movement she made, with her mind focused on how the sole of her foot fell slowly but heavily on the pebbles seeking refuge in the cracks of the pavement. The beauty and calmness of the surroundings eluded her. She feared and hurt with the moment she'd find him and she felt that slight tremble in her heart travel the length of her body to weaken her ankle when she stepped again. _What a fool!_ Jorah had kept her away from the turmoil behind these peaceful gardens. It beckoned at her like the sirens of old, alluring sailors into the arms of the sea and to their death. The fairness of this oasis… when in fact the grass was withered, the trees were dead; the soil was moist, like marshes swallowing you whole. It had all been stained with the evilness in people, with the sufferance of the innocent; but the golden polish the rich had enveloped these gardens in was now washing away with her tears. She looked at the skies so bright with the afternoon sun that it had almost lost its color. She sighed looking for air in a space where there was none. A void she couldn't perceive. Her body was collapsing, turning into a puppet for the mind to guide for a few moments longer before caving in completely. She had ridden like mad, her horse dyeing the moment she set foot inside the walls of Pentos. She had arrived home in just three days.

Her skin bore the marks of this short ordeal, bruised and scratched from the branches reaching for her in her mad chase. Her body sweaty and covered in dirt trapped in the leather lock; her inner thighs smelling of horse and animal sweat. The wrinkled waters of the lake whispered to her soothing her weakened senses and the matted hair she had been desperately trying to braid for the past three days moved slightly with the breeze. She passed a small fountain but the coolness of its flow did not release her from the trance she was in. She reached the edge of the garden; she stared at the lake emptily, suddenly missing Khal and the memory of him sitting on his terrace looking at different waters, in his undisturbed calmness.

She felt lonely without him. She'd rather fear his presence than not have it at all. The thought of him penetrated through the vision of nothingness fogging her open eyes. Reality sieved in invading her unwillingly. She had come to seek the man who had been closest to a father figure. A stranger, who had not been there to see her grow and had not witnessed her rejoice or cry along the years. A man who had taken the outcome of what her life had been to that point molding her into someone she never thought she could be. Or perhaps she had always been this woman standing tall and Jorah had only cleaned the debris, helping her shed her skin of fear and reluctance.

She caught the reflection of the white pavement with the corner of her eye. It swirled sinuously down the edge of the cliff, hiding among the bushes. Jorah would have never wanted to be placed to rest in public. He had lived a lonely life for the benefit of all, yet he would have dreaded being in a place where he could receive the false homage of people who never praised him in life and only did it in death because of what he meant to her, the Queen.

The path called to her, narrowing before her eyes, drawing near in the trickery light of the sun. The Gods were playful today. She turned left slowly, determined to find the tomb of Sir Jorah Mormont. If she did not have the chance to spend time with her sister, than at least now she should sit down and have a moment with her mentor. But he escaped her like a ghost traveling the shores and her heart sank in as she went farther. He was so close in her grasp; she felt it and she could no longer hide the truth about his death. She had denied it for three days since finding out the dreadful news, riding hard during the day still hoping he was only gravely ill and she'd rescue him; yet falling prey to nightmares in the moon light with the shadow of his death hovering above her. There was no turning back and her whole being suffered from facing the truth. Maybe he was there, with his back against the tomb stone, waiting for her. She stopped abruptly, wanting to bury her feet in the stone if she could. She missed him so much it drove her crazy with craving to have one last glance at him staring at her with that life giving force he had seeded in her mind. She shivered with a cold sweat under the scorching sun. The path continued and she followed the winding stone serpent, climbing down the steep wall until she became invisible to the eyes stalking her from the gardens above.

The trail turned abruptly avoiding the pointy edge of the rock and she felt dizzy with the sudden change, reaching with her hand for the wooden rail to hold on to it for a moment. She saw the steps leading down to the shore and she set her foot down measuring the length of it against the narrow pavement. And then the other foot, calculated, as if it was of outmost importance that she did this thoroughly. The breeze became stronger and her eyes became watery and she blamed it on the dust rising from the shores. When in fact the sands of time were settling on her heart and she remembered walking the same path with Jorah, worried and frustrated with her future in this world. She did not remember ever reaching this far down, but the feeling of it was so familiar; only his presence was gone. The trailed switched direction and again and she dared look ahead matching the ripples of uncertainty in her chest with the murky waters of the lake chased away by the wind. A tear hurried down her dry skin but the gusts of wind vaporized it. Or perhaps it was her very skin being so thirty that it indulged in the salty taste itself. Another one falling fast to her chin but she did not sense it. Her feet moved all on their own until they sank in the fine pebble of the shore and she took a moment to alleviate the soreness in the soles. She reached for the sandals and pushed them away carelessly, stepping gently on the humid soil and it almost hurt with the pleasure of relief.

There was nothing here but the lake, the sand and the rock wall leading to the suspended gardens. But she continued to walk, with her eyes swimming across the waters and into her own tears. She could hear it in the wind, she could feel it on her skin like a touch taking her there… She took the corner around the cliff as it bent into a small bay and she stopped with her eyes enlarging to a new view. The sand was white, dry and sparkly in the sun like a silver lining stretching from the foot of the wall to the lake not daring to touch its perfection. Her eyes followed it back into the shadows of the big tree. A tree so old and rich in leaves she wondered why she had never come there before. The dance of the branches made the shadows and the light mingle and their song entered her ears forcing her to close her eyes and enjoy it beyond the pain of knowing… she had found him.

Jorah Mormont's tomb stone lay hidden from plain sight under the tree, with his name stained by the sun spots. She tried to lift her foot and walk. But her lungs did not hold enough air to help the heart pomp the strength into her veins; the strength she needed to move. She leaned forward as if gravity could've helped uproot her from her sandy boots, but it only helped the tears come faster down her cheeks. In the sun she was a shadow bending with the wind, her skin chocolate, her hair almost silvery in the powerful sun, her eyes burning, spilling lava tears that no longer dried. She moaned and then fell back. Her lips parted to let the pain breathe through her and then with a rush of untamed will to touch this reminiscence of him she pushed her body forth, stepping hard leaving deep traces behind her, deep enough for the wind to fail in its attempts to cover them up. She entered the shadow and the sun remained punished at the gates, guarded by the thick corolla. It was right before her, just a step away but she did not dare go closer.

Her mouth opened to salute him. But only breath came out and she felt the need to sit down. She crossed her legs before her, disregarding the sand sticking to her sweaty skin. It was a warm embrace and she rested her hands on the knees taking a deep breath. Jorah said nothing, his name still caught in the dance of the leaves above.

"H…" no words. Her jaw trembled but her mouth stayed open and she chocked on her own breath. Her head came down, bowing all the way to the knees as she held on them tight. Another moan that soon turned into a cry, unspoken but screamed from the depth of her chest, loud and steep. She greeted her teeth in an attempt to keep it under control. "Why did you go?" she sounded threatening with her eyes suddenly shifting, drilling into the tomb stone demanding answers. "Why did you leave me?!" Jorah remained silent. She sighed with sorrow so embedded in her throat that it transpired through her breathing. She clenched her fingers on the sand, fisting through it, wanting to drag her body across the little space separating them but it was more a fight against nature; her own submissive nature. She was giving in. The dust rose from under her breath and settled on her cheeks moist with tears and she looked up again through white eyelashes and rosy lips. She got on all four and crawled before his tomb and in an act of overwhelming courage she followed each of her palms in turn setting on the cold stone. She wished she had sunk her fingernails in it for a better grasp but she only scratched against the letters of his name and the indentation hurt her nails. Her forehead followed finding the coldness soothing to her hot skin. And there was silence and there was her crying. Sobs and moaning. She opened her eyes against the grey of the tomb and she thought of him. _What would he think of me now?_ Her Khalasar… he'd think her weak again. Always weak, always crying. Always scared. She embraced the stone with both arms holding it close to her chest, her cheek pressed against it, trying to nestle her nose under the wing of the goddess resting above the carvings of his name. Jorah had believed in Gods only to where they claimed his life and provided him with the judgment beyond his mortal days. In life, he had believed more in the wisdom and strength of people than he believed in divine help. She detailed on the feathers in the wings, with her eyeball enlarged to capture it all from so close and she brushed her forehead again against it in a desperate attempt to get closer. "You should have not left me."

Peace, at last. Just the leaves singing, the lake silent the sun forbidden to reach her.

"You should've fought for us…" Her mouth closed as if each sentence was consuming her too much to go on speaking. Her nostrils fretted with the next breath. "Now I have to do it." Her eyes moved slightly. "I'll fight for us."

Her lips had dried again going white and her eyes were the only living things shinning among the dusty drawings her tears had left behind on the cheeks. She let go of the stone, shouldering it as if they sat back to back enjoying small talk. There was so much to stay and she seemed to munch on her lips trying to choose what to mention first. The discussion was already happening in her head and she felt Jorah knew what was going on. She nodded as if he had said something and she confirmed his worries. Then she shook her head, pointing her lips in denial. A groan surfaced with her breath and she shifted against the stone. Conversation was over. She let her head fall back and she saw the leaves differently, like muses massaging her eyelids with their gentleness and she let them fall over her tired eyes, breathing for the first time.

Moments, perhaps minutes or hours passed by.

She was not sure. Jorah was still there, backing her up. She pressed her palm on his name, following the curving in the letters and smiled.

"I love you." She waited. "Thank you." The words rolled out of her mouth soft like a whisper. She pushed herself up and walked to the edge of the shadow. She needed not look back; there was only forward now. She looked at her naked foot facing the sun outside the safety of the leave cage. Bearable. She stepped outside her safety cocoon and beaconed at the Gods with narrow, mature eyes.

She found her sandals half buried and she grabbed them as she began to climb her way back to the gardens. No more counting of the steps, the path that had seemed so long earlier was now but a hand full of stairs she overcame within minutes. She stood on top of the wall, breathless but alive; more alive than she had been in days. Somehow in her chase up the stairs she had dropped her heavy coat of panic and now she was free to look upon the world below with trusty eyes. She remembered who she was and the way she was dressed and with a hidden smile she sneaked her palm beneath her breast pushing it up in the leather cup. Her shoulder blades came together with her effort to keep her posture straight, her chin raised to level her pride and a new wave of audacity filled the emptiness Jorah had left behind.

She took a deep breath and stepped away from the edge. The garden kept its beauty and this time she was aware of the thorns behind its charm. She walked in confidence looking around; she was ready to enjoy what Pentos had to offer without getting stung by the traitors lurking in the shadows. But her courage failed her momentarily when she saw Illyrio waiting for her in the middle of the path; his hands holding on the staff so strongly, his old knuckles were white with the effort. Leora slowed down her pace until she met him face to face and the silence between them was more powerful than words. She felt the sudden urge to give the Magister a hug, but he was not the kind of man for public displays of emotion so she refrained, bowing her head. She heard him move closer, dragging his staff on the pavement and she waited with her eyes still set on the ground. His breath blew a few strands of her hair lingering on the forehead.  
>"Child…" Leora did not reply. She savored the word as if it had come from Jorah. He alone used to call her that in her darkest hour and Illyrio knew she needed to hear him say it. Finally their gaze met bringing together the misery of their common loss, yet the joy of being reunited after such a few adventurous weeks. Leora bent with her eyes peering into his.<p>

"I know who did it." And Mopatis' eyes went blank for a short moment.

"My Lady!..." The voice was strong but spoke faintly in her presence. Leora didn't let go of Illyrio, somehow not interested in the woman behind the Magister trying to address her.

"It's a hunch… a suspicion, Leora." Illyrio maintained his composure when sending his message in her ear. His voice was low and hidden, trying to keep her calm but it betrayed his knowledge of the crime. He knew what she meant.

"Perhaps…" Their eyes held the same regard for another minute weighing the chances against the culprits they suspected were guilty of Jorah's death. Leora looked away for just a flash then went back to sustaining his look, with a hint of worry in the deep chestnut. The she straighten her back putting some distance between them. "I know it'll be hard to prove it…"

Mopatis remained silent, aware of the truth in her words.

"My Lady!..." the woman insisted showing up suddenly in Leora's visual field.

The Queen finally took a moment to consider her presence. There she was, this seemingly young girl, over shrouded for her age, bearing the class her name gave her. The many layers on top of the already too tight corsage were obviously taking her breath away but she remained still like a marble statue, respecting her position and through it, her family. _Such a pity_… beneath the veils Leora could see the sunny hair pinned to her head in a horrific attempt to keep it from spreading its beauty across her shoulders and she dreaded the lack of freedom the court ladies had to endure on behalf of fame and fortune. Leora watched her long enough to make her shy, but she found it hard to open her mouth and speak. There were more pressing matters keeping her brain busy than the mere presence of yet another subject wanting to present her condolences. In one breath she managed to dismiss her.

"Not now."

The woman was troubled and in her confusion she bowed but did not leave catching Mopatis' attention as well. His vision clouded by old age but he seemed to recognize a familiar face; he had seen the girl before he just couldn't remember where.

"My Lady…"

Leora looked her way annoyed with the intervention. Now that her time with Jorah had been spent wisely she felt ready to take matters into her hands. Yet, the encounter itself and the torment of the journey to Pentos had drained her and she barely had the strength to stand less face insubordination. She realized she had never thought of insubordination before nor had she ever considered it as a leader. It surprised her pleasantly, but that flicker of fierceness in her eyes died with the thought.

"What?"

"Wait… I know her." Mopatis pointed with his staff at the woman but it was clear he knew nothing more of her.

Leora looked at the shrouded figure once more. She did not recognize anyone she had known at the court in her short time here.

"Speak." Too many questions to be asked so she preferred to just let her say what she had to say and then leave.

"My Queen, forgive my intrusion and persistence, especially at a time like this." She sounded sincere even though she had buried her eyes in the grass underneath her feet. "My name is Verna. Verna Lorday, at your mercy my Lady!"

Illyrio waved his staff in the air with a vengeance.

"Lorday's wife!"

The words hit so hard in her temple that Leora turned to both of them in turn, so fast she almost lost track. She opened her mouth to speak when Verna slipped her hand underneath the veils taking out a letter that she handed her with a bow.

"For you… my Lady."

Mopatis watched Leora looking at the envelope as if it were a scorpion ready to sting. People around were taking notice of their statuary presence and she urged Leora to take the envelope but she hesitated still. Her heart was racing. _Why would that snake of a man send me a letter? Why now!.._ Rage was boiling inside her and against exhaustion she wanted to strangle the woman before her just to send her murderous husband a message like the one he had sent her through Jorah's death.

"Who is this from?" her voice was slow and deliberate betraying the angst inside. The woman looked her in the eye and for a moment she looked for a more thorough explanation but the answer came as simple as expected.

"My husband, Lord Narcil Lorday my Queen!..."

The servant looked at them fearfully. She then stretched her neck beyond the two men standing in the street to check for anyone spying on them.

"Women there is no one here, I told you already!"

But the servant's eyes rolled twice before going back in the shadow of the door step. Sweat beads were coming down from underneath the heavy grey locks pushed randomly under the bonnet.

"At midday my Lord?" The old woman's voice trembled weakened by fear and doubt.

Lorday shoved the small bag of coins in her hand pushing her out of the way. Kanza passed her by like a shadow emerging from the sun and she backed up as much as she could not to make room but out of fear of this black apparition, threatening her poor life. The men disappeared into the kitchen but she didn't close the door until she didn't scout for intruders one last time.

The silence in the room was only disturbed by the boiling pots and the meowing of a cat asking for food. But even the animal silenced when Kanza's eyes fell upon it urging it to shut up. The servant hurried to chase the cat away then wobbled her way past the men and into the hallway, stopping at every step to make sure they were the only ones there. Lorday was impatient but appreciated the necessity for prudence. Kanza on the other hand kept to his usual silent manner; nothing seemed to alter his state and if it had not been for his eyes moving vividly across the rooms as they passed them by, one would have thought he's only there to shadow Lorday in his plan.

"Here it is… Please be silent. It is dusty in there. He hasn't used it in a long time." The woman spoke with a thick accent neither man recognized but they dismissed it quickly as they had to mind their steps down the secret corridor lying before them. Kanza looked back at the bright afternoon light coming through the windows, then back at the darkness emerging from the belly of the house. Lorday grabbed the torch from the servant and stepped inside anxiously. Kanza followed shortly after throwing an icy look at the woman petrified next to the library wall. He need not say anything; the woman closed the door behind them with her heart smaller than a rat's. She backed up against listening to the sounds coming from inside the wall. As she left, the library fell silent again, with nothing but books resting on the dusty shelves and a vase of wild flowers drying in the sun. But behind the walls the moles were crawling under…

Leora walked with the letter in her hand, Mopatis at her side and the young woman following her silently. She did not have the self-control to open it. It was too much for one day. Perhaps later. She stopped, with a deep sigh. Jorah would have not put himself and the weakness of his body first. He would have handled this properly. She breathed again, slowly, filling her lungs all the way down then opened the letter with steady fingers. Illyrio watched her do it and admired the strength of her hand considering it still bore the markings of the leather reigns she had been pulling on for three days. She reached back with the empty envelope letting Verna take it but she did not even grant her a look. She unfolded the paper, ready to reveal its content and be done with this torture. But as she read her eyes became heavier, her vision foggy and she bent more bringing the letter closely. The letters mingled, the meaning became confused and with it her heart forgot its rhythm turning into a broken instrument. Her common sense neglected her training and she turned desperately around to look for a place to sit and when she found a bench she hurried to sit down, inconsiderate to Illyrio's old age and handicap. She continued riding. She pushed the paper away and looked at the afternoon sun. Against her fury and her relief – it was blind and empty. No longer shining as strongly as the tears surging in her eyes, yet again. Her heart had sunk so low, that it felt each breath pulled all of her body inside then released it out to take its initial form. She screamed in her head so loud she closed her eyes for the sound not to make it through those chestnut mirrors and crack the clear vision now forming before her eyes.

She grabbed the paper again, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand smudging the dust off it Her hands were shaking so she set the letter on her knees following each line with the tip of her dirty nails. She folded the paper; very carefully as it was one of her most prized possessions. She came before the woman, so close their faces almost touched. She wished she had reproached her not having said anything earlier when she handed her the letter, but that was no longer important.

"Why?"

"I don't know my Lady. He -" She stumbled. "He had written this letter and left it on his desk. I do not know whom she wanted to send it to. I couldn't take it, he would have known! So I reqrote the content on this paper, for safe keeping." Leora looked at her in disbelief. "It is my writing, but these are his words and they scared me when I read them."

"Why did you bring me the letter? And why do you bring it now, so late? You know what it will do to him. You know what it has done to us." Verna did not seem to understand. The letter was about her, Leora, being a threat to Lorday's plans regarding the Westeros throne. What other harm could this letter cause? Verna's look turned into something Leora had never seen before. A feeling similar to pride but there was hurt as well. And hope; a mixture that made her cry and raise her head in defiance at the same time. "He is your husband after all. And you are selling him to me." Leora kept her eyes on her reading her reaction to her words but there was nothing other than her dedication to her cause. "Regardless of the reason that made you do it, you did the right thing. Even though late." Verna nodded without a word.

Leora glanced at Mopatis who had been around the court of Pentos for too long to even show interest in the letter. All scum fell victim to their own treachery in the end. He had seen it happen many times and Lorday was no exception. Nevertheless, he could not help a smile witnessing the irony of his beautiful wife being the killing hand. The wife he had hunted down for years and who cost him dearly: his pride when flattering her father and all of his followers into making the marriage happen. He looked at Leora marching towards the palace. She was going to make Lorday pay once more and this time the cost would be his life. He reached for Verna taking her by the elbow.

"Follow me."

"My Lord!..."

"From now you are to live at the court. Whatever it is written in that letter has just set this town on fire and Lorday will want to seek revenge the moment he finds out."

She wanted to oppose but Mopatis spoke wisely.

"He will find it suspicious if I'm not at home."

"I believe he will not have the time to notice it!... Now come. There are things we must do."

The torched stopped flickering and sent its flame straight into the ceiling and Lorday observed the cave like walls surrounding them, closer and closer. He wanted out of this place. He searched with his hands in the dim light looking for the handle to open the doorway out of the secret passage. He did not know what to expect on the other side. The servant had told him that it would lead to the bedroom. And that he would be there at this time of the day. He was there most of the time…

He pulled on the lever gently to avoid the noise and Kanza stepped closer with his hand on the dagger ready for the unexpected. The wall cracked open and a slice of fresh light contoured into the darkness. Lorday looked back at the torch restless with the gust of wind making sure it didn't die. They both pushed the door open crawling in its shadow until the room behind it was revealed and the sunlight hurt their eyes for a moment. But nothing prepared Lorday for the shock of seeing him there, despite of what the servant had already told him.

Lyrus Esther sat with his back at them, in a large chair covered in red velvet with golden frame work, his hands thrown neglectfully to the side and just the top of his head visible from the back. His grey hair sunbathed in the afternoon light turning almost white completely. Lorday continued watching him feverishly wanting to see more of him. Meanwhile Kanza took a small step ahead checking every corner with his vulture eyes and eventually he signaled Lorday it was safe to continue. But the young nobleman remained still, his back straight, his attitude provocative with his arms crossed against the chest. Kanza stood between him and the old man. He turned around to watch his victim. Esther remained motionless and both men spent a moment to follow his regard up to a painting on the opposite wall. An immense portrait of a beautiful young woman, wearing a blue dress and flowers in her hair. She had a daring look in her aquarelle eyes to match a playful smile. She held a bouquet in one hand while she had stretched the other towards an invisible someone beyond the frame of the painting. And Esther sat there answering her call.

Lorday came closer staring at the woman looking at him from the painting and his mouth opened with the surprise of finally seeing the face of the woman who had turned Esther and Mormont into enemies. The woman who Esther received with open arms after she left Mormont and his quest for justice behind. Esther, _the replacement_… Lorday wanted to take a closer look but the old lord was in the way and Kanza put a hand on his shoulder stopping him in time. Esther had lived a life time at the side of this beauty knowing her heart never truly belonged to him. It had been Jorah Mormont all the time and he had just been the bandage on her broken heart and still he was content with just keeping the blood from spilling from that heart. Instead she gathered all of it within him, cleansing it from the pain and the sorrow to then push that energy he withdrew back into her to make her happy. This woman had been the messenger of love into his barren life. A borrowed messenger at that, but regardless, Esther was content with simply having her at his side.

Lorday's eyes fell back on Kanza who was slowly pulling his long sleeves, twisting them around his skinny arms. The sight of the black material unraveling like a rope made him sick and he bent with the sensation in the pit of his stomach. He was about to witness a messenger of death delivering him into the arms of the dead woman watching them both from the painting. A messenger he had hand picked for the job. And for the first time in years Lorday doubted his decision thinking perhaps Lyrus was not the threat he thought he was. But Kanza did not flinch in his mission. His soft shoes made no sound as he approached the armchair and Lorday's mouth got sealed with the sickness; his hand shook involuntarily in a failed attempt to stop the Dakelh from seeing his deed through. It was too late. Kanza was with his back at him, raising his long arms high in the air and the brownish, almost dirty looking skin of his arms appeared from the black clothes now falling back like the shed skin off an animal, revealing not the beauty beneath but the rot of a man without remorse.

Narcil fell back another step. In a room filled with furniture, paintings and other such human belongings, he felt a void so big it was pulling him inside, sucked in to fill that emptiness. There was nothing but Kanza, looking like a tall tree in a dead forest, with his bony fingers wrapped around the black material. Esther had disappeared all together, hidden in the shadow of death. The woman no longer stared at him but at the assailant who was about to end Esther's life.

Sounds on the staircase and Lorday flinched so violently he almost ran into the wall behind him and closed their escape route. He grabbed onto the door with both hands preventing it from shuting. The voices were now louder and clearer and his breathing matched the quick steps he heard up the stairs. Kanza seemed lost in space and time, still motionless behind Esther.

"Hurry!" he whispered a threat greeting his teeth. Kanza's head turned to the side and his black eyes froze looking out the window, yet Lorday knew that look was for him.

Voices came through the door. His knees were failing him. In the heat of the afternoon time stood still. Dust flew through the air and his eyes could perceive the specs shining sparsely as they floated before his eyes. Kanza's sleeve moved slightly with the wind. Voices. But he had become deaf and mute with danger choking him. Voices…

"Leora, you must take your time, you must consider things and then address the council." Illyrio hurried behind her as fast as his stiff leg allowed him to.

"I don't need time to think about the obvious Magister!"

"What seems obvious to you may not seem as clear to the others! You are about to deliver grave accusations against one of their own! Lorday will not be alone in this!"

"Do you honestly believe he will show his face in the Council, even for a moment? At least long enough for his former allies to remember and stand up for him?" Leora turned around abruptly forcing Mopatis to halt in his painful sprint. "I doubt that!" she turned her back on him once again and continued marching towards her chambers, really not knowing what she was going there for but she had to have some direction in this mad flight across the palace and the Council Room did not seem a good choice at the moment.

"Leora –"

"More so –" she faced him again and Illyrio pressed on his chest to keep the old heart from going mad with excitement. "Do you actually believe any of them would stand against me? Their Queen?"

"Most of them have not yet accepted you as their Queen and many others see you as a traitor following your union with Khal."

"That seems to cover everyone in the council…" her voice dropped down a few tones and she took a step back acknowledging the fragility of her stance before the elders in the kingdom. "Is there anyone in the council who approves of me?" She smiled. "Other than you?" Silence, followed by Illyrio Mopatis' heavy breathing. "Well, you should do..."

Her voice didn't sound like that of someone who had just made peace with her imminent failure before the power in the land; it sounded more like a woman who had embraced her cause and was ready to fight even the barren hearts of old men gone dry with the desire for power and lust for money. She thought back at the words lay on the paper she held tightly in her first. Narcil Lorday had tried to sell her life to the highest bidder. He very well knew Alchantar Wolof had the most interest in seeing her gone; gone from Uyack and from Pentos alike. She looked at the letter crushed between her fingers. How despicable his treachery had been! She was not used to being stabbed in the back; she had been raised in a small community where people spoke their mind freely and without remorse. Back stabbing was just a waste of time. She squeezed her palm harder to hold firmly on this irrefutable proof of his guilt and she would make sure he went down with the rest of the council who continued to believe in self-preservation and not the welfare of their kind.

She looked at Illyrio again and the worry in his eyes mirrored hers and for a moment she felt inside the way she was on the outside: dirty, sweaty, matted. A web of endless tangled thoughts. Perhaps the Magister was right and she should give herself more time to prepare. A deaf pain pushed through the incoherent cloth in her head and her eyes burnt with tears. Lorday had not given Jorah more time. _Why should I?..._ She turned around wiping the tears away with the back of her dusty hand.

Illyrio Mopatis watched her change direction with the conviction of a hurt woman. He smiled a bitter smile. Men were strong in their quest for power, justice and struggle to defend their land, pride and family. Men took their time and only in scorching moments of blind rage did they act foolishly, rampaging at the enemy. A woman… well women did not bother with such matters of pride or rage against enemies. They were bothered with plotting. Plotting everything from the small matters of everyday life of how to get their men to bed and convince their stubborn offspring to eat the meals they've cooked to instigating wars and… sending men into scorching moments of blind rage. Leora had been raised in a forsaken corner of the world but her survival instincts had never been stronger. And she was about to defy reason and force men to confront her with all their weapons. And like water sliding through the cracks, he trusted she would make them all corrode and fall to pieces before the end of the day. At least he prayed for it.

"Magister!" her voice came to him from afar. It took him a little to snap out of his considerations of her future actions.

"My Lady?..."

"Send a patrol to find Lorday, Esther and Kazma!"

Whatever he had been thinking of her had now been turned upside down and he recognized he had been too mild in his evaluation of her will for revenge.

"My Queen, you must have the decision of the Council before—"

She hurried back so fast he was forced to take a small step back to contain the wave of fury pouring down on him.

"If I have to do it myself, then I will! If I have to drag all of them in chains in front of the Council, I will!" and she growled the words like a dog undecided whether to bark or simply send a mild warning to the intruder.

"My Lady…" Mopatis breathed in slowly, feeling a surge of nausea in his throat. "Lord Kazma and Esther are not mentioned in the letter, you cannot call upon them on a hunch, be it as reasonable as it can be in your mind!"

"I don't care about reason Illyrio! The three of them came to see me, the three of them are involved! You very well know Lorday could have not pulled this on his own! I will not wait and see them flee the kingdom while I look for evidence! So much injustice has been done in this city yet detaining two criminals under great suspicion from the Queen is considered by the Council a wrongful deed? I'm taking it as a personal offense! Now go do what I said! I want them, the three of them, in the Council room within an hour!"

"Leora, if you're building your defense only on Verna's statement, well she only witnessed her husband's plans, not his accomplices! They will want more, much more than a scorned wife who's ready to do whatever it takes to get rid of her husband!"

But Leora was gone. She addressed him as she opened the doors to the corridor.

"Just bring them to me!" she stopped holding the doors wide open, with her head bowed between her shoulders. When she spoke again she didn't sound so loud and merciless as before. "Bring me Esther." She glanced at Illyrio. "Bring him to me."

The Magister remained behind looking at the wooden doors blocking his reach to her. Leora was a very good judge of character and she had noticed Esther to be the weaker link in this mischievous trio. Still, even Esther could prove a hard shell to crack especially when he was already under Lorday's pressure. Nevertheless Kazma's name caught him by surprise. _What was that fool thinking?_ Kazma had never been much of a brain but more of a muscle man, throwing himself around in fights he did not win and in agreements he did not understand. Now his acts would finally put an end to his stupidity.

He took a few hesitant steps finding a chair to sit on next to the window. He looked outside without focusing on anything in particular, his mind still wondering, thinking what else Lorday had planned. He must've known how dangerous and unpredictable Alchantar Wolof was, and yet he went for the most inappropriate and uncontrollable option of them all. Illyrio rubbed his eyes hard, pushing down on the eye balls until they sank too deep and hurt. Narcil Lorday was not a fool, but he was fooled easily by his own games of pride and ego and the Wolof alone could understand such foolishness. What Lorday did not realize is that Alchantar also liked winning his games and unlike the young fearful noble, the King of Karok was ready to get his hands dirty fast and without hesitation. His few years in the world and inexperience in the political realm of the tribes would have surely made a victim out of Lorday. He had no clue whom he had for an ally.

Illyrio sank back in the chair, spinning the staff between his fingers. _Khal Drogo does_. Yet he too had taken Alchantar for an ally. He sighed from the top of his lungs wondering what else could go wrong in an already twisted world. Khal was now married to the wrong woman and without his knowledge he was helping her take the throne of the one kingdom that had blocked all trade routes to his tribes. Alchantar Wolof had allied with both the tribes at the Westeros throne and was now roaming the land devastating everything in his path. And Leora was nothing but a baby taking her very few insecure steps towards becoming the woman she had to be in order to face them both. He was only left to wonder if she'd grown fast enough to make it. That was one other thing he had to pray for.

The world was motionless or perhaps he was too frozen to be able to move and warn Kanza who seemed oblivious to the sounds coming from outside the room. And then, in a fraction of a second as if his desperate thoughts had reached the Dakelh's ears, the black material went down on Esther, cushioning his throat with terrifying force and the old man couldn't have seen it coming. Lorday blocked hearing the muffled gurgle in the man's throat as he choked crying for another breath. He took another step back and tripped on the uneven wooden floor, falling, dragging his legs behind him as he watched Esther dance a mortal dance with his arms in the air, not even looking for his assailant but instead reaching for the ghostly woman in the painting. The man wasn't even putting up a fight. Perhaps he had been waiting for this. Narcil pressed down on his chest, but the nausea did not go away. He pressed on the throat but the bitter taste of the acid climbing up and into his mouth made him bend spitting vomit on his chin and fancy white collar. He felt ashamed with his weakness; he did not recognize it. Kanza was as still as a statue against Esther's movement in his grasp and suddenly he feared the Dakelh and his silent skills. The memory of the skinny man's blade in his ribs disfigured his profane features even more. And that wretched taste in his mouth stinging his tongue as he tried to spit the remains of food still caught on his tongue. He used his sleeve to clean most of it but it wasn't enough. Caught in his own desperation he had forgotten about Esther. He had stopped moving, his arms now falling carelessly on the sides of the chair. Lorday was grateful not having seen his face when entering the room. He did not want to remember him; he'd rather keep that faint image of a fearful weak man who deserved his fate. A dreamy old man with whose future meant the next step he took down the road of perdition. A road leading nowhere but to his long gone memories. _I have done nothing wrong_… and he knew just how childishly his thoughts were but he couldn't help finding a justification for having killed Esther.

For he had killed Lyrus Esther and now he'd have to live with it. Literally.

Sir Sitche sat up front to make sure he got a better view of their Queen who had made the gossip of the day in Pentos with her wild apparition. It was all the markets had been buzzing about. He sat back in his chair rubbing against it like a pig trying to fit its fat in a straw bed and placed his hands on the round belly waiting, seemingly patient and undisturbed for Leora to make an appearance. The Council had been stirred and it wasn't the Queens's outfit that had raised a question in their weary minds, but the urgent matters she wanted to discuss with them, such that she had called upon them at a time when they usually rested.

Leora had been furious to learn of their reason to postpone the meeting. Resting at a time like this was unconceivable to her and yet it seemed that they didn't care as long as it did not concern them. She sent soldiers to all of their houses, rounding them up like new recruits forced to entry the military against their will. And now there they were, without their golden embroideries and heavy chains pulling down their necks with the weight of precious gems. Unprepared and human in their look, not the untouchable gods they thought they were and when Leora burst into the room making things worse she enjoyed seeing them startle like rats cornered in the dungeons below the castle. In fact, she had considered sending them to live outside the palace at least for a week, to share the common life with the folks sweating their backs to have something to put on the table at the end of the day. That should teach them a lesson. She looked at them, one face after another, the way they were, spread across the room like a flock of sheep scattered without a Sheppard to bring them all together. Well the Sheppard has arrived.

Behind her, the Magister witnessed the disorientation of the Council but remained silent giving her full authority. It was her time to shine and make proof of real manhood in a world of assumed identities. Drops of sweat were slowly sliding down her spine washing the dust off and Illyrio came close placing his palm on the sun burnt skin to wipe them away. She did not move but her eyes thanked him with a glance; she stepped forward but did not go for the throne. What she had to say was to be heard by all, not from the top of the stairs where the Queen should've been, but from amongst them, where they could feel her wrath first hand.

Mopatis sat next to his apprentice who was now more anxious then when he had first met her in the open fields of Uyack, surrounded by an army of savages.

"Sit!..." She made a tour of the room signaling all of them to take their places. "Please!" and somehow that sounded like an order more than a request. Only one remained standing and seemed to have the approvals of the others to speak on their behalf.

"My Lady, we assume these must be important matters if you are to call upon the entire Council at such an early hour in the morning!"

Leora felt her eyes swelling ready to pop out of her eyes. Her mission was so clear in her mind that listening to these fools and their nonsense complaints made her uncontrollably angry.

"First of all, you – all of _you_ – shall address me as your Queen from now on! Second, if this is an early hour for the Council to convene, then I wonder whether the crack of dawn seems like a time too late for the common peasant to wake up and work the fields you feed on like swine!" Her last words echoed through the room with how hard and loud she said them, almost bouncing back from the closed windows and in the back of their heads because they all shifted in their chairs.

"My Lady! –"

"Queen!" and her voice did what her foot couldn't. Step on them. "I have enough of this small talk and your approvals of me. Whether you like it or not I am here, I am my father's daughter despite all of your frustration, despite all of my efforts to ignore it! And the times are such that you need me more than I will ever need you. I have taken this war on my shoulders for _you_, a war that _you_ brought upon this kingdom because of your greed and selfishness. _What_!?" the looks on their faces could not be described. Stuck between hatred and astonishment they could not utter the words to forbid her from speaking anymore. "I am not Jorah Mormont nor am I your Magister to address you at the right time using the right words so that you don't feel offended. I am Leora Stekara, your Queen and appointed emissary of this kingdom beyond its borders. I do not care about the right time and the right words! All I care about is speaking the truth and acting upon it, and you my noble gentlemen can stay assured that there is no _right_ time for that!"

She turned towards Illyrio who, despite all of his mental preparation, had not expected this kind of roughness from her. She was young and imprudent, too brutally truthful for men who had done nothing but play with words most of their lives. It would either win her the battle or make her lose everything but he could no longer intervene at this point. She looked tired already and the way she spoke next only confirmed Mopatis' his worries. It took years of practice to learn how to save your energy in endless confrontations such as this but she had to learn the hard way, like everyone else.

"Your enemies will not take the time to choose their words when addressing you once these walls have fallen. Because it is these walls alone and I, who now stand between you and Alchantar Wolof."

"And your husband… my Queen!" The venom poured at her feet but it didn't touch her. It was so thick, thrown in her face that she could almost sense it trying to crawl under her skin but loosing Jorah had hardened her and evil did not sieve through so easily anymore.

"My husband is now your king and you have never known a man like him, because if you had, you'd know to keep your mouth or right now you wouldn't have a tongue to speak with!"

Her heart trembled for having spoken in his name. She looked away somewhere in the room trying to find an empty spot on the walls to write her thoughts down and spell them back out loud with more certainty. She spoke as if she had owned their marriage, as if it had meant something more than the arrangement it was. As if he had known the truth about her and would have supported her regardless of her origins. Like a man would his woman. Her focus on the matter at hand failed her for a moment and the chest ached with the memory of him encouraging her to come to Pentos and do what she had to. And now she doubted his intentions, that loving feeling she had felt in her home when he stood by her side before Cedric. She was confused, yet again.

"What our Queen is trying to say is that against all our expectations and previous plans the situation is now different and we must accept this diversity in our mists."

"Diversity?" Sir Sitche cleared his throat with an ironic growl at Mopatis, daring to defend this woman who was obviously bringing the kingdom to a misfortunate end.

"Do not be so hasty in judging, Sir Sitche. It's so easy to always be the donkey pulling in the wrong direction, or worse yet. Not pulling at all." The Magister got up walking slowly towards the middle of the room backing her up with his staff hitting hard and purposefully on the floor as he approached her. "It was easy sleeping in your beds at night when she had to share a tent with the wounded, hear their moans, listen to their cries after having defended those very beds you slept in." He turned towards Sitche pointing with his staff at his belly and the councilor tried to hide it away under the cape but in vain. "It was easy choosing her to take the blame and perhaps the fall so that you all continue thriving on the backs of those less fortunate than you. You very well know, it is because of our policies that the merchandise became so much more expensive for the tribes. It is because of your lust and prejudice that the Northern Kingdom failed to get past our borders and trade with the people beyond our realm."

Leora was thankful for the intervention and his calm voice soothed her hearing. Yet her words changed everything breaking his discourse abruptly.

"Jorah Mormont is not here." She looked at his empty seat and her eyes filled it with her tears. "If you must know why you have been summoned here, it is because of him." She came next to Mopatis, straightened her shoulders, lifting her head and the few tears that escaped her, pooled under her chin, in a mourning pride. She was an image that room had not witnessed before her. A tall, slender woman dressed in leather, dirty and smelling like a horse, with matted hair and broken fingernails, yet with the beautiful face of angels and the demonic eyes of spirits from below. They thought they had seen Leora Stekara grow into a woman when she was first brought to court but her time with the Dothraki had inspired her into becoming a ruler. There was something savage in her, uncontrollable and untamable, something that made the Council fear her yet follow her like flies to see what this glowing light in her eyes meant. She seduced them in a destructive kind of way and they felt like running, but they felt like staying. And they felt like attacking her yet they were afraid knowing that now, somewhere in the shadows, Khal Drogo laid waiting and they did not know of his intentions.

Mopatis followed her as she sat in Mormont's chair, getting a feeling of the wood still impregnated with his great personality.

"I am here to bring his killer to justice." She caressed the wooden arms of the chair with a deep sigh. "All of them."

The murmur in the room filled her ears but it seemed so far, she barely acknowledged it. Sadness was impregnated in every clean pore she still had and she allowed it to take over her being. It felt as if Jorah himself was taking over her mind and body, showing her the stress and anxiety he had experienced knowing he was going before his time. She knew he would have not left her in such dark times, that he'd been there for her in the Dothraki palace. Her jaw trembled slightly with the desire to cry and the want to yell her impotence to the four winds. She remembered the words in the letter she had sent him and she wondered if he ever got to read them. She had never had the chance to thank the people in her life who had cared about her more. She wasn't even allowed to do so in death. She turned her head looking passed the agitated crowd and through the window in an impossible attempt to find her sister's tomb and apologies yet again for not having been there for her either.

Long moments passed before the Council silenced realizing her stillness. They all knew of Jorah Mormont's death and they suspected each other at every step but they would rather keep it in the dark than speak out loud about it and draw attention upon themselves. Everyone had a theory about who had done it and why. In that room everyone had a motive to end the Councilor's life, a motive as solid and fare as any, according to their believes. Yet very few of them had the audacity to act upon such believes and murder him. And now she had stormed back into the city relighting a fire they had barely wrestled down into the ashes of forgetfulness and her rummaging through the coal did not help their peace of mind. At the end of the day, with the heir to the throne back in Pentos, it did not matter whom _they_ suspected, but who _she_ suspected. Leora looked at them looking at her and animals in the jungle would have seemed friendlier than the raw menace they were displaying. The menace and fright of animals ready to either flee or die fighting.

"My La-" the old nobleman stumbled in his words with a shaky voice. "My Queen… all of them?" he spoke so feebly she hardly heard him. Her gloom had spread across the room weighing heavily over their guilty heads, making them bow them like lambs before a sacrifice. But Leora continued to be silent avoiding their eyes, caught in another place and another time which scared them even more. She finally lay back on Jorah's chair letting her regard envelope all of them with the certainty of someone who did not need _them_ to make a decision. She was simply informing them of hers.

"Narcil Lorday." And the Council fell back as if pushed by invisible forces and the breaths coming out of their dry lips matched a wind gust hitting her face with its stench. "Lyrus Esther." And their breath died unsupported by a slowing heartbeat in their chest. "Kazma…" She did not care to remember his name. He didn't seem too important. Her business was with Lorday and Esther. "I have sent a patrol for them, to be brought before me. For justice." And if she had climbed a mountain it would have not exhausted her so much. It was done; her truth was exposed and the only reason why she was still sitting in that chair was because she was waiting for the knock in the door announcing her that the criminals had been caught. She turned her head enough to look at Illyrio and he could see how her muscles were slowly hardening, turning into marble emptying her face of any expression and he feared her falling. Riding like mad for days to literally collapse over the truth of Jorah's death, experiencing his loss first hand had been too much for her to handle during one short day. Yet here she was ready to turn into a statue, stubborn and obedient to her own quest for revenge. Her mood had affected even his old bones and he crawled back into his chair. Somehow he felt the Council would no longer pose a threat to her; fear had always been greater than any other feeling these old fools had ever lived through. And now they stood still in their chairs, looking like empty vessels filled with the most shameful of thoughts. He wondered just how many of them actually mourned for Jorah, even now at such a late hour. How many of them felt compelled to see his killer brought to justice instead of worrying about losing their wealth because of the wrongful deed of one small lord. Leora seemed out of their reach and with Khal behind her they did not know what the future held for them.

Leora closed her eyes and behind the closed eyelids the wind blew gently over her face and the leaves sang a soothing song. She felt the cold touch of the tomb stone behind her and her heart melted with the flow of her warm tears. But the knock on the door never came.

He ran into the wall, hurting his knuckles, leaving his skin in the darkness of Esther's secret labyrinth. The flame of the torch flickered and Lorday almost lost track of his steps on the tiles paving the long corridor. Kanza followed him as silent as always but he was not concerned with his presence anymore. He did not remember very well how he'd gotten so far. The image of Lyrus's arms dangling on the side of the armchair had stuck to his retina and in short flashes of light he saw the eyes of the woman staring from the picture blinding him in the dark. He ran into the wall again. Somehow he came back on the right path; Kanza was guiding him with the gentle hands of a killer and he didn't even realize it. The door opened suddenly before them and the afternoon light hit them hard, stopping them in their tracks. The old woman snapped the torch from his hands and pushed him through rooms and corridors he did not appear to remember, leading them out of the house through the same back door they had come in. She spoke fast, moving her hands incoherently, always looking over her shoulder, white as a sheet of paper, her lips so dry they had become almost invisible and Lorday kept looking back as well to see the source of her fear. In his head the voices were still there, haunting him, and he couldn't make the difference in between reality and the time passed. And suddenly he was out in the same small backyard road, with small carts screeching as they moved towards the market. Same puny merchants carrying their sacks of grains, same children dressed in rags playing loudly, stirring the dust around his feet.

Kanza grabbed his elbow pushing him down the street but numb in his perception of time, he continued looking back as if he had to remember what he was doing there and if Esther's death had really happened.

"Lorday!" Even when anxious Kanza spoke calmly but somehow his lips in his ear sent chills down his spine and he followed the Dakelh towards the market. As they walked hurriedly, following the length of the houses, with their hoods on like travelers from beyond the walls, a scream stabbed their backs with icy thorns and Kanza halted without turning; just listening. The commotion behind them grew and it seemed to stumble on them like the billows crushing against the steep sea shore. It froze the blood in their veins and they forgot to breathe waiting, like rabbits cornered by hounds. Kanza increased his grip on Lorday's arm and forced him to move but the young man could not remember how to walk for fear had paralyzed his senses and his sandals were now made of led. He stumbled a few times hurting his toes in the pebbles and the insignificant little rocks in the dirt stung his skin through the leather of his footwear and he pressed against the wall trying to take the weight off his feet. But Knaza pushed him further, taking the corner at the end of the street, avoiding getting lost in the crowd hurrying back to see what the hustle was all about up the street. They found a small alley and the Dakelh stopped, breathing the cooler air in the shadows of the roofs above them. He released Lorday and straightened his clothes as if they had been disturbed from their perfect fit. "Go home." He arranged the sleeves hiding the long arms and bony knuckles; hiding away the murder weapon. "Stay hidden." Kanza pulled the hood low on his forehead becoming a shadow among shadows. And from underneath the material he looked at Narcil Lorday sending a silent but spearing message he received like a hard blow between the eyes. "Say nothing. Speak to no one." He didn't have to raise his voice for his message was clear. Lorday watched the Dakelh's hands again, completely wrapped in the cloth and he shivered. He could not shed this panic that had overwhelmed him. His eyes became foggy; he leaned against the back of the house hiding them from their hunters. Or at least in his head, they were hunting him. He had had a bad feeling about this and yet he had not listened. He was not a man to make swift decisions and see them through, all in such a short time. Not when it came to murder. And he had lost conviction in his plan, which made it worse.

He looked for Kanza but he was long gone; the sound of his footsteps alone seemed to still linger imprinted in the dust before him.

All alone. He was all alone. Lorday saw people passing by at the end of the narrow alley he was hiding in and that could barely fit two people. It was time to go. It was time to run.

"My lady!" The soldier rushed into the Council Room sending the doors flying into the wall with a bang that startled the elders. "My Queen!..." the man barely drew breath so he took a moment when kneeling before her and Leora waited patiently; perhaps because in her heart she already knew Lorday would not come easily. But she had sent a small party to get him, how could he have possibly escaped so many men? "My Queen, he was not there." She got up from Jorah's chair and walked away from the soldier looking for answers in her mind as she paced through the room, ignorant at the chatter around her. His wife was here with them, his home empty. _Where are you?_

Heavy footsteps on the corridor, chain dangling as a second soldier arrived running. He halted in the door step looking for her desperately.

"My Lady! Lyrus Esther…" He bowed and sighed, more so to find his courage than catch his breath. "We found him in his home…"

"Well, bring him to me. Now!" Her voice silenced the room but the soldier shifted slightly, backing up a bit as if retreating before delivering a blow. His mouth opened while his eyes fixed her apologetically.

"He's dead my Lady."

Leora remained still because somehow the word _dead_ resounded too heavily in her ears. It caused her such pain; it tormented her in a way she could not comprehend, even when it came to a man such as Esther who had been part of the plot against her dear Jorah. She wished she had stayed in his chair to lean back and rest for a moment. The little energy she had gathered while waiting for the news of Lorday's apprehension was now wearing thing rapidly. She could not speak; she could not even open her mouth. She thought she should get on a horse herself and grab that young insolent and drag him to court. She felt the air come out of her nostrils long and hard, emptying her lungs.

"Whose doing?"

"We don't know my Lady… Servants say he was home alone."

_Servants have been silenced…_ "I want to see them all. All of Esther's servants. One of them knows something. Make them talk." She turned towards the soldier still kneeled before Jorah's chair. "You, come with me. Show me where he lives. We go back."

"Leora!—"

"Not now Magister!"

"My Lady, Sir Lorday lives outside the city borders. It will take a while to go there. It's late in the day. Traveling so far means you'll return with the dark. And if he's not there! –"

"He's there alright!" Verna Lorday stood up like a ghost emerging from the shadows of the long rows of chairs, silent yet predestined to show greatness in a moment such as this. She was the ace in the sleeve and she was now playing her card right. "He was gone early this morning and I suspect he had gone to see the Dakelh, Kanza."

The councilors' voices came as one in their astonishment hearing the name. No man in his right mind would discuss matters with a Dakelh, not in Pentos and not without considering thoroughly how to hide his plans. Obviuously Lorday had not done such a good job if even his wife had found out about it. If anyone had to deliver a message they would use the market boys, their own servants or soldiers in the house. A Dakelh… well a Dakelh was a messenger indeed, but of a different kind. One was suspected of foul play just for contracting such a man, less be seen spending time with one. As their worries got passed on from one another, the elders in the council soon silenced reaching the same conclusion: Esther was probably Kanza's doing. Yet they could not understand why Lorday would want to waste one of the few men who had taken his side at all times.

Leora watched them fall prey to their thoughts, one by one and she only felt more anxious to revealing the entire truth now they too doubted Lorday and grasped on the truth of her words. This was a chance she had to seize before it burnt out with more deceiving words.

"This man has just been to your home and Lorday is not to be found!" Illyrio's voice tore through the room shaking Verna out of her waiting and she turned towards him abruptly.

"He did not know where to look." She bowed her head, embarrassed with being the wife of a murderer and now the traitor behind their fake marriage. A fake marriage as it was, she felt breaking away from a dream she had consistently built for the past years, still holding hope in the innocence of her youth that she'd see Lorday transform in the man she wished him to be. And now not only that she had to kill that hope forever but she had to witness and participate into her social ruin. The destruction this would cause to her family's name and reputation would echo through many generations. She was to be remembered as the unfortunate girl who had been forced into marrying cheap and disadvantageous to her name. And if her family was able to cover that deceit they had been mislead to believe in, well, nothing could be done now, that her pest of a husband had made his deeds public and no one could save that from the gossip in Pentos.

Leora expected her to continue but Verna remained frowning in front of her seat deciding what or how to speak next.

"Verna?..."

The young wife looked at her in disbelief and sorrow but decided enough wrong had been done. A little more could not make the situation worse than it already was.

"There is a secret passage in the house that leads far into the valley." Her tone changed with the biting irony poisoning her mind. "It wasn't enough that he built the house so far from the city to keep to his privacy, but he dug a tunnel to ease the way out of the property, if need be. And need be it is…" and her voice died again downing in desperation. "He will try to flee Pentos if he can."

"And go where?" Mopatis came closer gesturing with his staff as if that would have showed him the way. "There is nothing out there but naked fields and crops! Where is he going to hide? With the peasants? To get killed with pitches and forks?" Illyrio chuckled amused to his own ideas but continued nonetheless. "Even he would like a better death than that of the hands of the very people he bludgeoned to death with his hypocrisy!"

Verna pulled back swallowing more of the shame the Magister was now spoon-feeding her at his own pace. Leora waved Illyrio to slow down in his passionate discourse and signaled to soldier to follow her.

"You're coming with us!" She pointed at Verna now suddenly disrupted from the web of feelings she had sawn around her. "You have to show me where it is. If indeed he is hiding in there, we must find him." The soldier rushed behind her putting his helmet on in a hurry. "And if he escaped we'll catch him by sunset. There's no place he can hide from me." She passed through the open doors and as she did she stopped abruptly almost making the man running behind her to fall to the ground. She turned to face the councilors all standing to see her rush out of the palace to chase one of them. Still, their curiosity ruled over their loyalty to Lorday and they wanted to see the outcome of their meeting that day. Their judgment of him and the accusations weighing on his shoulders were no longer important. The rumors that could feed them for the months to come, the juice of such a scandal impregnated their tiny spirits with the scent of blood. Such concoct of murder and betrayal in the midst of nobility had long been forgotten, since the days of the first Westeros fighting to claim the throne of the kingdom. They thought no such deeds were ever to emerge again among the likes of them – peaceful people…

Leora took one last look at them, these withered souls; some hoping for salvation, others convinced the life they had led would never bring the divine forgiveness they were but now starting to need – when realizing that all life, rich or poor, perishes. The soldiers close the doors behind her, locking the mass of unfaithful untrusting councilors behind. Mopatis alone still stood in the middle of the room as a one man army against the stench of deceit he's breathing in the room.

Sweat came down his back, a sweat that he hadn't felt until reaching his home. Not even after riding like mad almost flying above the dirt roads leading him to the only safe place he knew. The fortress he had built; the pride of his eye and the joy of his heart. But once inside Narcil Lorday didn't find the peace he was looking for. He pushed the doors open as he passed from one room to another, wiping his greasy forehead with the back of his hand and his skin itched with the dust. He stopped in front of the bedroom and his shadow left him behind to stretch all the way across the floor, casting a ghost much taller than the little man empowering it. Lorday watch it with the gargoyle eyes of a frightened man caught in his fears and his mind slowed down, as if already caught, as if already imprisoned in a cage no one could take him out of: his head. She swallowed in slowly, his eyes tired, his little body exhausted from riding, his senses confused with the dramatic events of the day.

He walked inside and sat on the edge of the bed looking around and for once this house looked strange to him. He never really did care about the way it looked and it looked empty. No flowers resting in a vase, no paintings on the blue walls just a drape hanging neglectfully, covering the sunlight trying to burst in through the window. Verna had never been preoccupied with arranging the house. He looked away letting the drape play shadows on his face as they shifted coming through the window airing the room. In truth she had tried. His jaw trembled imperceptibly. It had been him the one who had prevented her from turning their house into a home, from making this a place for a young couple to live and thrive. He had deceived her from day one he had met her and then killed all of her dreams as he went deeper in his plans of fame and fortune. Admitting it was hard and tasted bitter on his tongue, turning his throat sore with the taste of vomit. He bent above his knees, holding tight, fighting the urge to puke. He tried to think back at Esther and his decision regarding his murder and he did not recall for a moment a feeling or thought that would have led him to this terrible conclusion. He could not find that one thing that triggered this scared child in him to act this way and worse still, he could not find a solution to cure him from his own caused misfortune. He sighed from the pit of his chest. He felt his body weighing twice its normal weight and all he could think of was to nap, even for a minute. His mind was trying to trick him, lying to him that once awake this all would only be a bad dream and then he'd have the chance to reconsider his decision over Esther. But the noise of the world, the chatter of the servants in the back yard and the song of the grains bowing with the wind, held a grip on his weary mind. He got up dragging his legs to the window to watch the bloody poppies swirling in the blonde hair of mother nature as it moved across the fields. The wheat was ready for harvest and his workers would soon cut it to the ground. He swallowed in difficultly looking at the acres of gold swinging before his eyes, spotted with drops of poppies turning darker in the sunset.

Perhaps it was his eyes, but from the far corners of his lands he saw the white dust rising into the thick hot air, to then settle on the fat wheat grains. And the cloud grew bigger sending sparkles into the blurry blue sky. The sun was beginning its decent and its touch on the ground was making the land bleed. That reddish mark in the horizon sent him a warning and with the corner of his eyes he saw them coming. Hiding into the distance, shrouded in the dust, Leora Stekara's men were coming for him.

She narrowed her eyes fighting the dust rising from underneath the hooves of the horses. The familiar scent of a sweaty horse had invaded her nostrils again and she felt at ease with it. It made her miss him. She peaked high above their heads at the bright blue sky, so unusually bright for a late afternoon and with the eyes of the mind she thought of him perhaps looking at the same sky. The men next to her rode hard; their smoldered sounds encouraging the horse to gallop to their last breath kept her connected to her day dreaming. Another wave of weakness poured into her heart wanting him to ride next to her with that imposing figure of his, shadowing her, diminishing her to the little woman she was. Yet shielding her from the world beyond him. Deep inside she knew. It took her a moment, right there, in the mad unbalanced step of the horse, that she loved Khal Drogo, the Khalasar of the Dothraki tribe and her hands lost strength holding on to the reins. Her back straightened as she sat upward in the saddle, leaving the blue sky behind, visualizing just her feelings, so clear all of a sudden, so astonishing in their certainty. The horse slowed down and she did nothing to stop it. The men continued their chase down the road aiming for Lorday's house. The sun was soon to set and the murderer could easily get lost at night in the endless plantations behind his property. One of them threw his head back looking for her and saw her staring blankly, her horse confused with the sudden change of mood. He halted and called for the others to follow.

"My Lady?..." Bu Leora did not answer. She saw their shadows through the tears running down her cheeks. She could not define love; she had heard people speak of it in so many tongues, described in so many ways and she thought she understood what it took to love. "My Queen! We should hurry! Night's coming!" But nothing.

Pain spread through her chest like rain clouds over the forest, forcing the earth to steam when tears fell, making her heart grow and beat in a rhythm she did not trust. She could not accommodate her mind to believing she was in love and no one had ever told her there would be a contradiction between reason and feelings. She found nothing about him that would make her draw near. He was a demanding cruel man, a brute force of little consideration over the human nature, a man of a few words, selfish enough to act only upon the things he cared for or he considered important.

The horse moved slowly, aimlessly without her guidance to show him the way. He grabbed a few straws growing on the side of the road and chewed on them slowly, shaking his head to chase away a few flies buzzing in his ears. The soldiers kept quiet looking at her, so pale and so lost they thought she was about to faint and fall of the horse. The soldier came closer, gently, afraid not to scare her and placed his hand on hers and Leora startled with the touch. He retracted fast avoiding her eyes. She blinked a few times to clean her eyes from the memories pooling under her dirty eyelids. No, Khal Drogo was not to be loved. _Then why do I miss him?_ She finally found the strength to follow the man back to her little improvised army. They came behind her orderly and quietly, no longer running but going at a steady pace. They looked confused and worried with her attitude. Her day had been awful and the story was far from ending. Lorday's house grew bigger as they approached it and the servants noticed them, putting to rest their daily chores.

"Where is your master?"

An old man pointed towards the entrance of the house. His weary eyes followed the queen as she dismounted and she was a sight to remember for them as she had been for Khal three days before and for the entire city of Pentos that day. This woman with long chestnut hair, tangled and dusty, her thigh exposed underneath the furs hiding a shiny dagger. Her naked back revealing the fine line of her spine and the soldiers looked away as if they had seen too much already, but Leora moved away as if nothing was happening. Her outfit had become the last of her worries since arriving home. She bowed her head and she felt her neck hurt. _Home…_ What was home anymore? Thoughts curled around her sensitive nerves and she shook her head trying to keep her thinking straight. She heard the soldiers asking more questions behind her.

"When did he come? Was it after we left?"

"No, no my Lords... Master Lorday left this morning. Then Mistress Verna, like I told you –" the old man silenced abruptly seeing Verna Lorday push her long hood to the side, revealing her blonde hair in the sun. Leora heard the sand beneath the servants' knees shift when they kneeled before her.

Verna looked at them slowly and then at Leora standing in the door step. The women shared a moment together and Verna smiled a crooked smile of someone who had finally decided what to make of this new queen. She could be trusted, not because of her crown, but for whom she really was… She could not explain it. She nodded and Leora stepped inside with the soldiers coming from behind.

"My Lady, let us go first! He might wait for you in an ambush!" Leora barricaded his way forcing her arm across his chest.

"Trust me. He does not expect me here, not in a million years." She glimpsed quickly around the house. "Not in an eternity." She took her arm back curling her fingers on the small dagger. "And he'll never have the nerve to ambush us. He stands alone."

The other men came behind them.

"What of Kanza?" She turned to look at the man and his dark eyes sustained her look, grounding her into reality. She swallowed in and observed the hall way again. The soldier did the same signaling the others to spread out and check the other rooms. Leora glanced at Verna standing on the porch.

"Stay here." It was almost a whisper but Verna took a step back showing her she understood. They moved silently and a few minutes later they reunited in the kitchen with nothing to report. "Get Verna!" The woman joined them immediately, more agitated than before. "Where is it? The passage?" She bowed and rushed back with the small army following in her footsteps. She walked her palms across the books shelves in the living room, passing them by until she stopped in the middle of the row, sneaking her fingers behind the wooden frame. She tried to pull on the shelf but her efforts were in vain. Leora signaled the men to help and soon three soldiers took over forcing the secret door open. Books fell, on the floor as the shelf revealed a black hall behind it. Then the flicker of the torches. The men kept them both back as they inspected the entrance in the tunnel then adventured in the belly of the beast with naked swords and weary eyes. Verna remained behind watching them disappear inside. She did not know where the corridor led. She was never allowed to enter it. The darkness frightened her and now somewhere deep underground her husband was crawling under the walls.

It was a déjà-vu. The light hurt his eyes as he stepped outside despite the sun fading away into the horizon. He rushed to close the door behind him, but he found nothing to use for blockage so he hoped the lock itself would hold long enough for him to gain distance before his pursuers came even closer. He turned to run but stumbled in the high grass and fell on his belly. He had never used the passage; not for running. Only for playing coy and feel grand about his mastermind plan of having built an escape route beneath the house. The wind swished above his head and a few poppies leaned all the way to the ground kissing his forehead. His eyes enlarged, drinking in the color and they were redder than he had remembered them, softer still and in their fragility they soothed his tense muscles. His skin relaxed, the fine lines on his forehead turned shallow and he heard his own breathing mingle with the wind. Nature was loud but so different from the human noise and he indulged in it for a moment. The skies had turned darker; or perhaps in the shade of the tall grass colors were darker. He felt embedded; one with the field, with the grains flowing in the wind, flanking him from all sides. He could've stayed there and lay low if he wasn't so close to the exit from the tunnel. He got up, untangling his feet from the grass and swam his way across the field.

The wheat brushed against his hands ad he didn't know its touch could be so harsh. He had never touched it before; he had never felt the weight of wheat grains in his palm; had never followed with the tip of his fingers the length of a dry straw and now they hurt him in his flight, slowing him down. He fought against it, struggling to keep up the pace but the wind sent waves of tall grass, poppies and wheat to fall and break against his shaky knees and he stumbled a few times, falling to the side. He looked for the sun and it was gone, only shreds of orange and red were left behind, dragging behind the day god, crossing the thresholds between worlds.

He fell again and this time he stayed down, lying on his back, angered and terribly saddened. His destiny was fighting him, not these weeds, not these lands, but his own life. His arms fell in the wheat and the grains immediately molded around them, forming a shape of his body, welcoming him amongst their thin bodies winding above. He closed his eyes feeling trapped. Impotent. The wind spoke with voices he recognized. The dirt was calling, his sweat mingling with the dust around. The dirt wanted him.

The door burst open with one last kick of the boot and the soldiers rushed outside stumbling in each other. Leora followed closely behind with her dagger drawn and her eyes sharp, hawking at the crops stretching before them into the horizon. Other than the lean dry wheat nothing seemed to be living in that immensity of land and they kept quiet for a moment, listening. He couldn't have gone far. The tall grass would have prevented anyone from running. They started walking carefully not to stir more the winding grains bending around their legs. It was like fighting moving sands, deepening hip high in the golden sea trembling with the evening wind. Here and there a bird would take flight from its nest hiding on the ground and they would startle throwing their swords its way. The poppies bowed to ridicule their anxiety and then looked the other way ignoring their startle. Leora pushed through the soldiers coming before them to take a better look at the signs the land was laying ahead of them. She signaled them to stop. She was raised in a place like this; rich in crops, tall grass and dewy mornings, shivering forests and treacherous sounds. Her shoulders loosened as she took a careful look at the waves of wheat flowing like ripples in a lake and she saw the path. A marking large enough to have been made by either an animal or a man. She moved slowly, crouching a bit, enough to bury her elbows in the sea below and her dagger blade shone discretely caressed by the heavy wheat grains.

Steps away, Lorday watched them carefully. He lay low, with his eyes peaking through the thick wheat, like an animal stalking its prey. He could not run. It was impossible. There only four men and her… Leora. His heart raced madly and for the first time that day he felt the old Lorday come back to life. The one who would bring death to his enemies without remorse, who could move like waters flowing in the mountains: deceiving, slowly eroding the rock until it crumbled and fell freeing the way for his will and purposes to be fulfilled. Narcil Lorday, the nobleman that would not give in without a fight. He reached for his belt taking the knife out and his hand shook a bit as he clenched his fingers on the handle. If his treachery had been only discovered but not yet proven, he still stood a chance in court. He fell back a bit with a gust of wind pushing wheat and human together to the ground. But then why was she here? He sat down still holding on the knife. It was perhaps that she suspected he had been behind Esther's murder. But then again, unless the servant had confessed, there were no other witnesses to spot him or Kanza at the scene. _Mormont?_ And that inner voice still trying to convince him the queen's presence there was a pure coincidence, silenced. She would have not come for him personally for Esther's death alone. She did not care for the old man, she did not even speak to him, but on a very few occasions. He went on his knees and searched for her with wide eyes and a new wave of panic settling in. He watched her sniffing her way to him, like a hound smelling, tracking and targeting its victim. His heart sank deeper in the already tiny chest and in an instant he knew this had nothing to do with Esther. Esther's death was only more reason to an older deeper suspicion she'd had of him. She was there because of Jorah Mormont and he's stupid fleeing from Esther's house, the people discovering his body so soon after he had left, only added more weight to his guilt in the eyes of the queen. Otherwise she would have not bothered to hunt him on his own property. And the way she was dressed… he fall back on the ground, surprised, confused and lost. _Who is this woman chasing me? _

Leora stopped looking at the wheat laying crushed on the ground in the weird shape of a body and she walked in the middle of it, imagining she was stepping on his very chest and she pressed harder on the ground leaving her footprints in the moist soil.

"He was here!" she spoke so softly the men barely heard her.

"What foul would spend time laying this way when he's expecting company?" the soldier came before her and spoke just as softly to keep the wind from stealing their words and betray their presence.

"Perhaps he's not expecting company."

"Then why would he flee? It makes no sense, my Lady!"

"I don't know…" And she really had not considered why he'd flee. Unless he suspected she knew. But Verna had come to her in secret. _Kanza perhaps…_ Her hold on the dagger weakened. She was so strong in her conviction regarding his guilt that she had never suspected his reaction facing her accusations. She expected him to fight her, to call her a liar. A man capable of murder was surely able to confront even the Queen before the Council. After all, it was she who had fewer supporters among the likes of him than Lorday did. And now she stood wondering what the reason behind his flight was. She shook her head. Regardless, she now had the proof Lorday had murdered Jorah and nothing else mattered; why he had fled, if he had also killed Esther. It would all come into light as soon as he'd stand trial before the court. _So where are you, you scum?_

Narcil crawled back a few steps, hating how the wheat bent to the ground living deep traces in the mass flowing above his head. But he continued moving backwards with his eyes pinned on her shadow, sitting still where he had laid minutes before and he knew she had sensed his presence. His breathing became irregular and he choked a few times; or perhaps he wasn't breathing at all for moments at a time. A pain pumped in his ribs, but it was coming from his aching heart and he felt like crying. What a puny feeling! _What have I become!_ He didn't know why he was running but he knew he had to. She sacred him so profoundly, like no one had done before. He did not know this woman despite her earlier display of innocence and confusion, her little experience and few men standing in her defense. He thought she'd be an easy target to get rid of, but the changes Leora Stekara had gone through in the past months had proved to make a difference in his life and as much as did into hers. She was becoming the Queen she was meant to be while he was turning into the scum of the earth, the poor frightened man he'd always fought to escape. _Scum of the earth!.._ the words resounded in his head. Verna used to call him that, so often. _Verna… Verna!_ His fingers went deep in the dirt, gathering a fist full of moist soil to clench on. _You, it was you!_ How could have he been so blind! It had been her all along. She knew of his letter to Kanza, she had been shadowing him for months trying to find one reason that would be strong enough to break her free from him before the people and the high authority in the Court. An affair, a wrong affair! But he had never suspected her to go so far as to go through his documents. He kept his secrets well hidden so she must've gotten into his back drawers he had built especially in a shack behind the house. He was mesmerized with her efforts to destroy him and incredibly so, he felt sad with it. _How much hatred must've lied in her little heart for her to do such a thing? _And beyond the sadness which was so unfamiliar to him, he tasted this scent of innocence, pure innocence where he felt victimized in his attempts to make a better life. _Better life for me… _He was lost. Verna had betrayed him and it was the last drop to fill a glass already filled with his frustrations. With his misfortune and bad luck. His entire life had been a lie, an ongoing struggle to lie some more and now the lie was biting the flesh off him, chewing to the bone, swallowing him whole. And he wasn't sure whether he could handle it anymore.

He stood up suddenly, staring at her, looking at Leora Stekara as if that was the lie he had to face and never had the courage to. She looked back at him, a bit surprised but the determination in her eyes assured him of her intentions. And he sprang for freedom. A freedom he knew he could not win nor keep because he could not outrun her, he could not fight her so his rabbit flight turned into a masochist funny game where he ran to spike her and nothing more.

The men were left behind to fight the wheat molding on their heavy armors, while she chased Lorday down, jumping high above the waves of gold, with her fur lifting up her thighs and she loved the sensation of complete freedom the Dothraki outfit gave her. She had fought wars wearing tight shirts and heavy chain armors, fenders cutting the blood flow in her limbs, massive belts to hold equally massive weapons. And there she was now, flying above the fields in Pentos like a butterfly, incoherent in its flight, riding the gusts of wind, eyeing at the man running before her.

It was getting dark; the trees were growing long shadows from the borders of the property, so long they almost got caught in their mad chase. She breathed fast, bringing her knees up and her elbows high to keep balance as she continued jumping above the wheat turning white little by little with the rising moon carving its way through the evening mists. With the corner of her eye Leora saw the silvery dust rising in the distance to pave the way for the night goddess. She had to hurry. Lorday could find the best ally in the darkness rising through the trees and if he escaped now, it would take weeks before tracking him again. Her mind rushed faster than her legs and she became a little frustrated with still being behind him. She could not understand how he ran so fast; he was a little man and in the tall grass, he had to double his efforts to even keep up the pace. Her heart pumped harder and beads of sweat formed on her forehead but she didn't mind them. _This is it!_ She ran faster, no longer jumping, no longer pushing the plants to the side. It didn't matter her legs got scratched, it didn't matter she had lost track of her men; it didn't matter she couldn't hear the sounds of the world anymore. She heard her heart beat and it gave her meaning and purpose to her fight to bring Lorday down. This would be her first real victory and hers alone. Where she single handedly brought the enemy down. _I'm the predator and you're the smaller prey!_ Jorah's words brought the sunshine of that early morning before her eyes when they were watching Khal's army gathering at the palace gates. _So much peace!..._ Her eyes filled with tears. Whatever strength her body still held, was being thrown into the battle for this one last stance. Then nothing. She knew she was drawing near to her limits so she closed her eyes, with just her instinct to guide her and her legs moved ever so slightly as if she didn't even touch the ground. Her senses freed from the stress of the day, from the pressure burdening her shoulders. Clear from the pain of going back to the court to fill in Jorah's empty seat again. And she came closer and closer to him, hearing his breath in the wind, with sharp animal instincts. She bent a little to add speed to her flight.

She opened her eyes suddenly, wide and enlarged to capture the entire scenery before her and his small back, darkened by the shadows of the growing night appeared clearly a step away from her. She launched at him, aiming right at his throat, her arms tightening around it with the might of someone who had nothing else to lose.

Lorday moaned throatily hitting the ground hard, face down and dirt got swept between his lips, mingling with the saliva dropping from his drooling mouth. His heart almost exploded with the effort and the sudden stop and he moaned louder, choking in the dirt. She had mounted him, pushing her knees in his ribs, her arms still coiled around his neck, pulling his head back to help him breathe. Neither of them spoke. They couldn't and she didn't care for words. She wanted him to know this was the end of the road for him and the power now lay with her. And he had to acknowledge it.

The men rushed behind her kneeling at her side, to tie Lorday's hands behind his back. She let go bouncing back a little bit, dizzy, with blurry vision as she looked above the fields. The moon had risen and she hadn't even seen how beautifully strange it was. A soldier helped her up and she pressed against him for support for just a short moment. The man bowed his head and waited patiently, in awe to this woman he had never really known before. She let go.

His eyes stood from the dust and he narrowed them against the shadows moving above his head. His shoulders hurt with how tight his hands had been bound behind his back. He had lost track of her. She had not spoken a word to him. He swallowed in drily tilting his head to the side. The moon had risen turning the wheat silvery, almost white. The soldiers were talking fast above his numb body and he didn't want to know what they were saying. His forehead was itchy and he tiled his head more trying to sooth the annoying sensation. The moon… and immense globe of pure silver spotted with the footprints of the gods. A little something leaned towards him and his eyes lost focus of the celestial body and grasped on the shadow approaching his face. A fragile poppy bent to kiss his temple and the light transpired through its thin dark petals turning the coagulated red into the same bright red he had admired in the sun light.

_Blood will be blood… when flowing through my veins… when spilling form the veins of others…_

His eyes closed with the poppy still dancing above his eyes. In the dark.

The Magister watched the bloody skies drape the horizon. No news from the little party Leora had went to Lorday's house. They had been locked there for hours and the Council had marinated slowly in its own juices. Khals'menwere left behind and now waited in the garden for Leora to return with new orders. She had decided to leave them aside and not scare the Councilors even more with their savage looks. She would use them if things went wrong. But for now their presence at the court was reason enough for things to stay on track.

The Moon had thrown its silvery shawl over the city shining brighter than before. Two nights of fool moon to light Pentos in its misery. Two nights to illuminate the truth over so many things unearthed after so many years of sitting buried deep under these walls. He sat down, covering his mouth as he continued to watch the moon rise. His eyelids felt heavy under the weight of the night and he sighed rested his temple against the window frame. When he had set out to find the bastard child of the Mad King he had not anticipated things would take such a twisted turn. Regardless of all their expectations he never thought he'd find anything else but a scared unprepared little girl raised by adoptive parents and then by a general whose small legacy already burdened her tiny shoulders. And the Council… well the Council surely did not foresee this kind of strength and conviction. They wanted a puppet to rule under their rule and not a leader to overturn their authority and battle each and every decision they made.

He alone had kept to himself, never uttering a word about his belief of Leora Stekara, the long lost heir of the Westeros throne. Jorah Mormont. He had left Pentos that morning to find someone he did not want to judge before hand and when he had found her, he was the only one to see her potential and encourage it to blossom. Even he, as the Magister of this Court, had doubted the councilor's judgment of Leora. A young woman who seemed confused with life itself, not knowing what she was really made of nor where she wanted to go with her fate.

He closed his eyes and they hurt with the old age and the pain of having witnessed so much treason over the years and not doing much about it. It was partially his fault that she did not know what was of her, for she never had anyone to guide her. _Like seeds in the wind_… Jorah had told him of her torment the day before marrying Khal Drogo. His eyes opened to stare at the moon and when thinking of the Dothraki chieftain even this night star looked more savage and barren ruling over its kingdom in the skies. No one had expected the Khalasar to ever intervene in the affairs of the Southern Kingdom. He had the benefit of a fairly large army, extremely well trained and obedient, but according to his ancestors he was never to engage in conflicts with the outer kingdoms. He was only to see to the tribal affairs.

The chair seemed uncomfortable now that he leaned back stretching his bad leg to relax the muscles. Was their bad trading such a menace to the tribes that he had to intervene, or was Alchantar's influence that had triggered his involvement? Either way, they were both a danger to Pentos now. And especially to Leora. Khal, in his ignorance of her true origin, believed he supported the true queen of the Westeros throne to gain what was rightfully hers. And she was truly a queen and this was her kingdom, only that… He shifted in the chair. It was not right for him not to know Leora was a half breed. His people would have condemned him and the Dothraki Council would have never allowed such a marriage forcing him, irrevocably, to go to war with Pentos just to revenge himself for having been played. Her lie had saved the city from utter destruction, but now her fate was sealed and he did not know how this would end.

And Alchantar… Alchantar had to be disposed of. As long as he existed, he would pour fire into the hearts of the weak and unfortunately there would always be fools to listen to his scheming, falling in his trap of lies. Mopatis looked at the door again. Still closed; still no sign of her. The older members of the Council had fallen asleep in their seats. The younger had gathered in a corner, looking scared, planning their escape. Not from the room but from whatever blame their relationship with Lorday would put on them. Friendship in this council only went that far.

The town below was silent. The roofs glittered in the moon light. Everything so silent.

_Too silent_. The general looked at the high walls of the Valley of Naajy. They had been marching for days and what Alchantar wanted to be a surprise attack to deliver a deadly blow to the Dothraki clan was not turning into a murderous trap for the Wolof army. He looked at their king sleeping peacefully next to the fire. He had come to battle unprepared. He had done this without realizing how vast Khal's land really was and now they found themselves wondering for days between scattered villages where one by one their men fell victim to the undefeated heart of the Dothraki. _And now this._ He almost spoke his thoughts out loud. He did not like being trapped in this valley. It was a narrow passage that barely allowed one army to pass. Had they been caught here –

"General! I'll take over." The soldier saluted him but the General didn't move, still inspecting the rocky edges above their heads. "Something wrong my General?" He took his time in answering.

"I just don't like this place." He turned towards the young man who waited patiently. "It's not a good place to be in."

He left the soldier behind to take his post and he went for his improvised bed across from Alchantar's. The fire roared between them and he lay down feeling the exhaustion in his bones and in the sore muscles. His neck had never been more grateful than when the shield took the weight of the head as he laid it back to look at the fool moon shining brightly above the valley. A faint gust of wind made the fire roar higher into the night and his eyelids welcomed the warmth, closing after a long day of riding through the scorching sun.

The soldier a few feet away, turned around looking at all the shadows coming from the dry bushes spreading alongside the foot of the walls. Everything was dead here. Nothing but sandy soil, making it hard for the horses to advance with their hooves deepening in these moving sands. Nothing but dead vegetation and nothing but a killer sun who had caused them to blister and puss in their heavy armors. He now understood why the Dothraki were so naked in their traditional wear. He faced the fire again watching his commanders rest. Alchantar Wolof remained sober and fierce even in his sleep. As if he was still planning his next move behind closed eyelids. The young man narrowed his lips, looking away with guilt for even questioning his king's orders and strategy. Yet, he was not sure where he was leading them.

The wood burnt silently interrupted only by the wood collapsing in. Sparks went up in the air like fire flies, prancing through the night, careless in their swing like children. The soldier followed them with his tired eyes until they vanished in the depth of space above his head.

He had never enjoyed the fool moon. It made him anxious; it didn't let him sleep at night. And now it was making him too visible for his comfort. Khal Drogo lay lower in the bushes above the canyon. The twigs in the dry bushes scratched his shoulders as he tried to camouflage underneath. The blue paint looked like rivers of fresh water in this desert with each ripple of his muscles. He glanced back at Cedric and Ortezza, on their bellies behind him. Then back at the Wolofs camping at the foot of the rocky walls.

Cedric crawled to him and looked down as well. They were fewer than he had expected, but still plenty for their small army to take on their own. Khal refused to send a scout and retrieve his small party from the other side and make sure they met here at the same time. He said they should stay together and fight. His men on the other side would not fail to come at the right time. He peaked again at the men resting on the bottom of the valley. He trusted his gut in battle, but could not have so much fate in destiny when it wasn't in his hands to control it. Khal trusted his men but it was not in his power, not even in his men's power to succeed or fail in this mission. After all, their mission was not to sabotage the Wolofs, but to claw them here. Drogo knew his people in the villages Alchantar had attacked would weaken the fire people enough at the cost of their own lives. There was something greater here than a Tekara mind could understand. He helped a small village survive a greater force, it was true, but seeing Khal make decisions over so many lives made him feel like he didn't know enough about decision making in a war of this magnitude. And worst of all, he didn't know whether to admire him or hate him for being the harsh character he was, imposing and undeterred in his ways. He did not dare look at Khal but he could feel how relaxed he was when looking upon an army he, Cedric Gaëllic, would have otherwise feared of attacking in an open space. Or even here in this death trap.

"We attack at dawn." His voice was so soft forcing Cedric to look his way and at once that power he heard people talk about captivated him. A voice so tender coming from a perfectly carved face of a barbarian with deep green eyes fixing him like a predator; and that dark green deepened in the silver moon, half hidden in the shadows of the bushes. His massive back moved slightly and with it, it's the blue serpents coiling down his spine and Cedric could not object his demand.

Ortezza manage to get on his knees waiting for Cedric to retract. Khal walked away against the moon light, carving his own shape in the round globe, with his long braided tail swinging slightly on his back. His men followed. Ortezza pulled Cedric by the leg signaling him to go.

A few moments away, the slope behind the steep valley swarm with their small unit crawling its way down to rest. When the dust settled behind them the moon took over again. In the dark.

**My dear friends,**

**I guess it's useless to apologize! Getting into schools asked for more of my time than I had initially anticipated! I had to apply for scholarships and all these other small things that had kept me really busy for the past months. Let's not all forget I work full time haha**

**So here I am with this new chapter, I hope you guys enjoy it. I really missed The Walls and was looking forward to writing some more. Unfortunately sometimes stories get trapped din my head until I actually have the time to sit down and put them on paper. I have a bit more time in my hands right now so I have already sketched the next episode. It shouldn't take long before uploading the next chapter!**

**Thanks for being so patient and for staying true to Khal and Leora! **

**MUAH!**


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